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#LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, f 
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f [SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT.] J 

# <r/«/."PS 2.4-34 f 

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! UNITED STATES OF AMERICA f 



LEISURE THOUGHTS, 



PROSE AND VERSE. 




BY THOMAS P. MOSES 



PORTSMOUTH, N. IT. 

PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL A. BADGEK. 
1849. 






Entered according to an act of Congress, in the year 1849. 

BY SAMUEL A. BADGER. 

In the Clerk's OfBce of the District Court of New-Hampshire. 



CHARLES "SV. BEEWSTER, PRINTER. 



CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Preface, 7 

Freedom of Tliought, - 9 

Prejudice, - - - - - - - 11 

Winter Musings, - - - - - - -12 

Disappointment, - - - - - - 15 

Remorse, or the Murderer in his Cell, - - - 16 

To my Flute, - - - , - - - - 19 

Morning in Summer, ------ 21 

The Mother, for her Lost One, - - - - 22 

Penitence of an Austere Husband, - - - 23 

Sympathy, -24 

To a Violet, presented by a Lady, - - - 24 

Tolanza, 25 

Books, 26 

The Rural Pic Nic, 27 

Life, 29 

On Viewing the Great Comet of 1843, - - 31 

They tell me so, 33 

The Anonymous Letter, ----- 34 

On Music, 35 

False Colors, 38 

Sunmicr's Return, 40 

Reflections of an Old Man, - - - - 41 

The Dead Child, 43 

On the Death of a Brother, - - - - 45 

The Seasons, ....... 4(j 



Page, 

The Consumptive, --.-.. 48 

The Orphan's Lament, - - - - - 50 

The Reformed Sailor, 51 

Miss Shepherd and her Fish, - - - - 54 

The Rejected, - 56 

Song of the Sailor, - - - - - - 57 

Ode for a Tempei-ance Occasion, - - - 59 
Flowers, --..-. ..go 

The Rescue, -----_. 62 

On the Death of Mrs. H. W. C, of Manchester, - 67 

PubHc Amusements, - - - - - - (i& 

The Proud Spaniard, 70 

Lament for Summer, - - - - - 72 

Traps, 73 

To an Album, -----.-75 

The Evil Spirit in Disguise, ----- 76 

On Visiting the Grave of a Friend, - - - 78 

Cruelty to Dumb Animals, - - - - - 80 

Summer Scenes, --_.-. gg 

The Dying Boy away from Home, - - - 84 

Sound the Alarm Trumpets, - - - - 8G 

To a False Friend, - 89 

For an. Album, to F. N. S., - ... 89 

The Returned Ring, 91 

Birth-day Reflections, - - - - - 92 

The Singing Bird's Appeal to the Sportsman, - 93 

To a Beautiful Rose, 94 

Summer, --------95 

Changes, 97 

Alvah's Lament, ------- 9.'> 



Page. 
Song of the Deceived Maiden, .... lOO 
Thoughts on Leaving Homo, - - - - 101 

The Charms of Winter, - 102 

Ode for a S. S. Rural Celebration, . - - i05 
To a Miniature of the Departed, - - - - 107 

The Impulsive INIaiden, ----- i08 

On the Sudden Death of Miss E. F. P. - - - 110 
The Escape from Fire, - - - - - 112 

Avarice, its Influence on the Heart, - - - 113 
Jerusha Carter, and her Chosen Flower, - - 115 
Slanderers, - - - - - - - -IK! 

Diversity of Opinion and Independence of Tliought, 1 1 7 
Three Cheers and Away, - - - - - 121 

The Gay Mourner, 122 

Reflections of the Inebriate in Prison, - - - 124 

Charge for the Battle, 127 

Voices in the Grove, - - - - - - 125) 

Scandal, a Trade, 132 

On the Death of a Sister, 1 34 

Farewell to Friends and Home, - - - - 13G 
On the Death of Miss E. M. S., - - - -137 
Uncertainty of Happiness, ----- 13!> 

Bird Killers, - 141 

To the Hutchinson Family, - - - - 142 

The Welcome Messenger at Sea, - - - - 143 
The Spirit Voice to the Inebriate, - - - 144 

Habit, .145 

Grief, 147 

The Learned Pig, 148 

Tolanthe, loO 



Page 
Beautiful Trees, 15] 

To a Gay Young Friend, - - - - -152 

Pleasant Visits : or, Kate and Lilla, - - -153 

To a Friend Going from Home, - - - - 1G6 

Song of the Robin, at Daybreak, - - - - 1G7 

AVaiting to Die, - - - - - - -168 

The Bachelor's Excuse and Regret, - - - 170 
The Bachelor's Reply to " Somebody," - - 172 
Fall of the Pavillion at Portsmouth, - - - 1 74 
To the Old Brick Market-House, - - - 176 

On the Fine Arts, 177 

King Alcohol to his Associates, - - - - 180 

Selfishness, -- 182 

Defamers of Character, - . . . . i84 

Again is Summer Here, 186 

On Riches, - - 188 

Passing Away, - - - - - - -190 



r 11 E F A C E . 

Ix presenting Leisure Thoughts to the public eye, the 
author is not so visionary or void of ordinary discern- 
ment, in this age of accomplished authors and countless 
books, as to hope or dream of fame or pecuniary favor 
in connection with liis pen. 

It was at the suggestion of disinterested friends that he 
first conceived the idea of collecting some of his prose 
and verse pieces, and presenting them in the form of a 
book. He entertains, however, the common belief that 
while on life's active stage, every one — according to the 
means in his possession — is under moral obligation to do 
what he can in the cause of humanity and the general 
welfare of society. He is not unmindful of the fact that 
ability does not always accompany zeal, however honest 
and warm ; and therefore should be prepared for any un- 
pleasant consequences which might fall upon one who 
voluntarily placed himself within the influence of tlic 
public gaze. 

He trusts that he will not be accused of great vanity, 
in expressing a hope that the contents of this volume 
may be of some trifling benefit to many hearts, au'l of in- 
jury to none. 



To the unprejudiced and unbiased reader, the nature 
of the subjects generally chosen and the candid manner 
of expressing his ideas, may in some measure atone for 
deficiency of elegance in diction, and other palpable Im- 
perfections which may be found upon these pages. 

The whole book is the production of detached mo- 
ments of time — as a relaxation from the study and per- 
plexities of the jirofession of music, and from some degree 
of self-satisfaction in 

" Tolling a tale, or singing a song, 

In praise of the right — in blame of the wrong." 

Should it be possible for a just and generous critic to 
deem such a book worth his perusal, the author would, 
from the critic's view of human nature, and the circum- 
stances connected with this volume, willingly trust the 
work to his generosity. 

If, by the stern discipline of life's perpetual vicissi- 
tudes — with advantages that fortune has only bestowed 
with parsimonious hand upon the author — he has been 
successful in expressing a single thought or sentence 
worthy of preservation, may the sentiment be treasured 
in lasting and generous memory, according to its intrin- 
sic merit. 

To the friends and pupils of the ivriler, is this voluii)'; 
nffectionalely inscribed. 



FREEDOM OF THOUGHT. 



Thoughts cannot be chained. They will ever soar 
on freedom's wide spread wings — mocking all human re- 
strictions. Thoughts are the miiul, which is not only 
free in its nature, but also indestructible : all else may be 
imprisoned, may perish. Mind, in its true bearing, par- 
takes of the divine essence ; and pure thoughts are the 
odoriferous drops of that essence. But while flesh and 
blood, and sinews and fibres, arc the mediums through 
which this subtle and mysterious agent is permitted to 
exercise its prerogative, it is in vain to look for perfection. 

The soul has ever challenged the deepest learning and 
genius to interpret its m3Stic pages. Finite research 
here grows weary, and earthly greatness is forced with 
childlike humility to give up the effort as hopeless, while 
still the undefined spirit is more or less deified, or regard- 
ed with care and solicitude, wherever its si^ificant 
banner is unfurled. 

Intelligent thoughts made known through the music of 
words, demand an existence, wherever in life's atmosphere 
man is found. And those thoughts that spring out of the 
fountains of charity, benevolence and love, have a pass- 
port from the Eternal One, to roam the yndc world over. 

"Words uttered by tongues famihar with the most 
correct and elegant language, do not always express the 
deepest, strongest and truest feelings. 



10 



Kings and princes, priests and statesmen may some- 
times think meanly and ivickedly. Those who bask in 
the sunshine of opulence and are overwhelmed with 
means for acquiring knowledge, may deem it condescen- 
sion to listen to music dropping from harps attuned in 
the solitude of penury, or otherwise in the shades of 
obscurity. But Nature is true to herself, and neither 
conventional forms, nor aristocracy of learning or lineage 
can successfully quench or confine the free-bom soul. 

It is true that coarse, ignorant and imbecile minds 
cannot think well ; and it is equally true that titled no- 
bility and speculative minds have often erred, and may 
err in thinking. But the soul true to itself yearns for 
light, that it may see God, nature, man and all things as 
they really are. 

Modesty is a lovely maiden of balmy breath, but she 
should not mistake her true mission by consigning the 
" winged thoughts" to silence and obscurity, destined to 
go forth as help-lights on life's dreary ocean. 

Neither should egotism, or vanity of hateful visage, be 
allowed so to intoxicate the fancy, that the weak and 
puerile shall appear strong and noble — the distorted, 
beautiful — the false, truthful. 

God, Nature, Truth ! — glorious watchwords for mortal 
oonsideration. 



11 



PREJUDICE. 



Fire, famine, and the reeking sword 
That sweep with dismal moan and blasting sway 
O'er earth and sea, come not in tones so harsh. 
So keen and terrible, to greet my ear. 
As that ungracious, drear, and chilling sound 
That speaks the blighting name oi Prejudice. 
Ah, how this prowling fiend is wont to grin, 
And shake his haughty head, when he beholds 
Upon life's ocean tossed, the thousand wrecks. 
Made by his cruel blast. — How many fall — 
Alas, too soon ! to rise no more ! 
How many worthy hearts have felt fiill deep 
The cold, relentless thrust of Prejudice — 
And pined away beneath the tyrant's power, 
The hapless children of a frowning world — 
Unknown, unsung, unwept ! 

Shame on thy foul and adamantine heart, 
And scorned be him who pleads thy vicious part, 
Thou heartless master, 'neath Avhose pliant rod 
So many bend the knee, and yield a nod ! 
Why do we bow to thy behest. 
Dark image of malignant breast ? 

Thou creepest like a serpent to beguile, 

And willing hearts quaff down thy treacherous smile ; 

And oh ! who feel thy cold and blighting breath, 

As well might sleep in the embrace of death ! 



12 

For life's a wilderness of pain, 
Where Prejudice is wont to reign. 

How sball we find reward for noble deed, 
If surly Prejudice be not agreed ? — 
"WTiat skilful hand can bid the slumbering lyre 
Awake, and breathe with all its wonted fire, 

When this rude personage is nigh,. 

Detractor, of a jealous eye ? 

Oh, come not near me with thj^ traitor kiss-, 
I hate thy visage, gi-een-eyed Prejudice ,' 
Headlong adown the cliff" of deep despair 
I'd hurl thee, heedless of thy struggling prayer : 
For earth is tainted with thy breath 
Thou pale-faced fiend of woe and death. 



WINTER MUSINGS- 



" Ye favor'd ones=, 
" Whom pleasure, power, affluence surround — 
" Ye little think how many feel 
" This very moment death, and all the sad 
" Varieties of pain. How many drink 
" The cup of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
" Of misery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds 
" How many shrink into the sordid hut 
" Of cheerless poverty." 

O AVHERE has fled the Summer 
With her gems of beauty ? Have the whisp'ring 



13 



Zephyrs breathed her farewell song ? The " thousand 

Minstrels of the sky" — have they forsook us ? 

'Twas but yesterday the dewy roses 

In our pathway lingered, scat'ring fragrant 

Incense all around. Gay birds, in number 

Countless, 'mid the leafy bowers, with " harpstringsl 

Tuned," swell'd liigh their gladsome notes. And merry 

Insects, hurrJ^ng forth from flower to flower. 

Were seen. But now — ah me ! a change hath come — 

'Tis Winter ; and all nature once more groans 

In icy fetters. Cold winds sweep along 

O'er snow-clad hills and stiffened lakes — 

And leafless trees touch'd by the chilling blast, 

In sadness murmur. 

Hark ! — now comes the gale. 
My lonely cot, lash'd by the tempest nide, 
Is rocking. Madly drives the stiffling snow 
Against my casement frail. The pelting storm, 
(Though I am sheltered from its angry touch,) 
Salutes me with its dreamy music. Ah, 
Methinks, amid the warring elements, 
I hear deep notes of woe ! 

In her abode 
Firm held in Poverty's Herculean grasp. 
The widow yields to tears of keen distress, 
^\^lile children hungry by her side 
Look up to her for sustenance. Alas ! 
No " Hoicard" comes, — she breathes her mournful wail. 
And on the swift wings of the wintry wind, 
Her cries for help go forth. 

2* 



14 



Tlie beggar girl, 
With haggard features, ragged and forlorn^ 
Urged through the drifted snows by penury 
And want, finds few to pity her distress-. 
Half perished, and dejected she returns 
To taste at Tiome, the pang cf grief more keen. 

The careworn Father, lone and friendless, sick, 
On matted straw, listening in vain to hear 
Tlie footsteps of some minister of love, 
Breathes to his God a prayer, and thea expires. 

Upon life's troubled ocean is abroad, 
With tearfal eye, and pallid cheek. 
The Orphan boy. His frail bark, to and fro, 
By each rude gale is toss'd. No friendly sail 
Is seen — he feels his loneliness — makes one 
Last effort to outbrave the blasting storm: — 
But in his striving — sinks.- 

The injured vtife, 
Whose husband courts the flaming, murderous bowf. 
Sits trembling by her gloomy fire, till tolls 
The midnight bell, to gain by industry 
Severe, a scanty meal. 

With iron grasp, and visage wry, 
Rude Winter comes upon the poor ; 

And 'neath his keen lash many die, 
While seeking aid from door to doop. 

Think then, in pity, ye who feel 
No pang of hunger, or of cold ; 

0, raise a generous hand, and heal 
The heai't that must its grief unfold. 



15 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 



I've quaflPd of disappointment's turbid streams, 
From the first breathing of my infant dreams ; 
E'en to the shade and ills of manhood's hour, 
I've felt the pressure of its blighting power. 

I never loved a gem in childhood's sunny day, 
That disappointment did not snatch away ; 
The sweetest plajTnate of my infant glee, 
Was first to sink in death's unfathom'd sea. 

Oft have I roam'd the summer woods among, 
To cull the flowers which there in beauty hung ; 
Grasping the lily — or such fragile thing, 
Surprised I've felt the lurking bee's rude sting. 

With tiny voice I've made the green bowers ring 
When I have caught some bird I thought would sing; 
But e'er my minstrel tuned for me its lyre, 
Encaged, I saw the innocent expire. 

To manly eye, such crosses little seem — 
But to the child it is not all a dream ; 
Still, o'er life's sea, glides reckless on, his bark, 
Till rocks unseen doom ber to regions dark. 

W^ith yearning hope I left my native home 

'Mid southern bowers, and breezes bland to roam ; — 

O'er hill and dell, with eager feet I hied, 

To meet one heart wherein I might confide. 



16 



But e'er I reach'd the distant sighed for spot, 
The brow I sought was cold, in clayey cot ; 
The ' Archer grim' had sprung the fatal bow, 
And 'neath the cypress laid my brother low. 

Such, such is disappointmerd — with rude sting, 
Piercing, and mocking — ever on the wing ; 
Who feels him least, perchance may merriest be, — 
But boasting 's vain on life's uncertain sea. 

The ' Spoiler' wears a thousand forms each day, 
And comes severest to those hearts most gay ; — 
Oft has he bid my soul's rejoicing hush, 
But never quite, this spirit could he crush. 

Oh no, — ' sweet Hope,' with soothing voice comes near, 
Dispels the canker, fills the breast with cheer ; — 
Points upward to a City, free from care, — 
No sting of disappointment poisons there. 



REMORSE, 

OR THE MURDERER IN HI3 CELL. 

Suggested on conversing with an intelligent prisoner about to 
expiate his crime on the gallows, in Cincinnati. 



Phantoms of ebon wing, away — 
Taunt me no more, ye fiends of flaming eye — 
Hence — leave me but one hour in peace — leave me. 
I awake — the dream is past — 'tis all too late, — 
With me 'tis finished — I am lost. 



17 



Irreparably lost ! — Why then reflect ? — 

Can water sprinkled on the parched earth 

Be gathered up ! — old age return to youth ! — 

Ripe fruit to green ! — Then why reflect ? 

But yet a brute may think, — shall 7nan do less ? — 

O come, Remorse, with sting relentless, come — 

Probe deep — and deeper still this stricken heart, — 

Plunge home, spare not the recreant slave 

'^^^lO would not heed a mother's love, 

A father's counsel, — friends advice ; spare not '. 

'Tis meet, I quaff thus deep from bitter cup ; 

But e'er within this arm of murderous nerve 

The burning pulse shall cease to throb, my heart 

Must breathe its lone, last, burning lay. 

This aching brow, and haggard form, — 
A wreck exposed to blasting storm, 

AVas wont the smiles of peace to wear — 
Xor dreamed of foundering in despair. 

A favored child, with parents dear, 
"Where Affluence her temples rear, 

I tuned my earliest notes of joy ^ — 
My mother's pride — a happy boy. 

Amid the bowers of classic lore. 

Where gems are found, of valued store, 
Have I, with studious heart, reclined 

To shape and beautify the mind- 
Pictures of light and life were there — 

Drawn out with skill and beauty rare, 
By spirits looking from above — 

Yet I disdain'd their pens of love. 



18 



Bright summer wreaths hung graceful round — 

And music's captivating sound, 
Upon the fragrant evening air, 

Was wont to linger sweetly there. 

But ah ! those scenes — where are they now ? 

And where those lips that pressed this brow ! 
My mother, father, sister dear, 

And brother — oh ! would they were here. 

No, no — I would not have them here — 
From kindred eye shall gush no tear ; 

And none shall sigh for guilt of mine ; 
Unpitied, here will I repine. 

I would not list to warning voice. 

But made the ' ruby wine' my choice ; 

I quaflfd from cup that seal'd my doom ! — 
From stream which leads to charnel tomb. 

With smiling eye and costly sheen. 
When all seem'd beauteous and serene, 

The tempter came, and promis'd bliss — 
I did embrace — 'twas fatal kiss. 

Now here, these dreary walls within, 
I'm shut from light, for foulest sin, — 

A murderer ! and my gloomy fate, ■ 

In keenest agony await. 

My wandering spirit backward flies. 
And views the past with racking sighs ; 

Oh ! that I could return again. 
To hours my bosom wore no stain : 



19 

I'd shun the sparkling, fatal bowl, 
Where adders lurk to sting the soul ; 

Would woo fair Virtue, drink her breath, 
Nor cease to love her, e'en till death. 



TO MY FLUTE. 

Dear Flute, — companion of my youth, — 
Source of delight, from treachery clear ; 

Rest by my side, fair child of truth, 

Nought shall molest thee while I'm near. 

With fond eyes let me gaze on thee. 
My true, my long-tried, faithful friend ; 

By all should I forsaken be. 

My Flute a cheering voice will lend. 

If sorrow sometimes wounds my heart. 
While floating o'er •' life's troubled sea," 

Thy liquid tones can heal the smart, 
Thy " melting murmurs" comfort me. 

The woods in my own native land. 

Have echoed back, " My Heart and Lute ;" 
As oft by summer breezes fan'd 

I've sat, communing with my Flute. 

I've roam'd o'er ocean-wave with thee, 

When lightnings flashed, and all was drear : 

And there — e'en on the foaming sea, 
Thy silvery tones were doubly dear. 



20 



In orange groves, and spicy bowers, 
With thee I've lingered, gentle Flute ; 

Drank the pure breath of " honied flowers," 
Where all, save birds and thee, was mute. 

O, I have prov'd thee every where, 
A soothing, ever constant friend ; — 

Yet, 'mid earth's scenes of noise and care, 
How few their lone hours with thee spend. 

When from this tenement so frail, 

Shall soar my spirit far away ; 
Could'st thou, dear Flute, my loss bewail, 

Methinks thoud'st weep each lonely day. 

Oh, cease to breathe of spirits fled, 
That lov'd thy " stilly night," to hear ; 

My thoughts will wander with the dead. 
Those spirits to my heart so dear.* 

But look not sad, oh, magic Flute ! 

Though importuned to hush awhile ; 
I could not wish thee long be mute. 

When thou can'st raise the cheerful smile. 

Then, " Dorian Flute," thine aid impart, 
To dry thy master's tearful eye ; 

Lend inspiration to his heart. 
Dispel each fear and painful sigh. 

*My two only brothers. 



21 

MORNING IN SUMMER. 

" Sleeper coine forih^ the Sun is up. 



Awake ! arise ! the morning dawns, 
O'er glassy lakes, and on the velvet lawns ; — 
No longer sleep, " the hills are bathed in gold," 
And warbling birds their happy tales unfold. 

The Shepherd's up, and sings in joyful strains, 
^Vhile, with his flock, he hies o'er grassy plains. 
The verdant hills and valleys glow with life. 
And waving trees are all with beauty rife. 

The dreaming flowers are breathing on the air, 
And those who will may quaff their fragrance rare. 
On golden wings comes in the blushing morn, 
While zephyrs soft play through the waving corn. 

The feathered minstrels soar on airy wing. 
With harp-strings tuned, and sweetly do they sing. 
There's health in every breeze, — the morn is fair, 
Up and go forth to taste the balmy air ! 

Dream if thou must, upon the languid bed. 
Then rise and ffif/h that dewy morn has fled. 
Sleep if thou wilt, and dose away thine hours, 
I'll to the fields, and sip the breath of flowers. 

3 



22 
THE MOTHER, FOR HER LOST ONE. 



During a long passage up tlie Mississippi river, in the 
spring of 1838, many passengers on board the steamboat 
were taken sick with small pox ; and among the deaths 
was a beautiful child, whose young mother was obliged 
to have it torn from her and buried in a rough box near 
the side of a hill on the banks of the river near St. Louis. 
Fancy heard her tones of grief, thus : 

There is a mound beside yon hill, 

And 'neath its steady gloom 
My darling boy is cold and still, 

In his dark narrow tomb. 

The song-birds chant a requiem by, 

Where sleeps the infant one ; 
And voices oft-times whisper nigh, 

" He was her idol son." 

No more can smile the happy boy, 

Upon his mother's knee ; 
No more his little heart will joy. 

Earth's flow'rets bright to see. 

Thou knoVst, oh Father kind, above, 

How keen the pangs I bear ; 
To lose the jewel of my love. 

And treasure of my care. 

My heart must breathe its burning grief, 

For the stellar gem that's fled. 
\^Tiere may I seek and find relief, 

Now my sweet boy is dead ? 



23 

Yes, near the side of yon dark hill, 
Slumbers my blue-eyed dove. 

I earnest hope, I earnest pray, 
To meet mine o^vn above. 



pp:nitence of an austere husband. 



Wert thou to deem me stern. 
How could I blame ? 

From thee my face I turn, 
'Tis fill'd with shame. 

So kind to me thou art, 

Forbearing too ; 
Oh ! what a cruel heart — 

This heart to you. 

I've caused thee days of pain 

By word and deed ; 
Thus my own heart I've slain, 

I feel it bleed. 

My lov'd one, bid me live ! 

Say not depart ; 
But oh ! once more forgive 

This errinjj heart. 



24 

SYMPATHY. 



Arts glittering domes and towers must fall. 
Gay cities crumble with the dead ; 

All things must yield to Time's stern call. 
Thus the Omnipotent hath said. 

But mark the sympathetic breast, 

That melts when misery's sons are nigh ; 

In golden palace with the blest 

His name shall brightly shine on higk. 



TO A VIOLET, 

PRESENTED BY A LAD-Y, 



Gem from the mountain side,. 

Fade not too soon away j 
Unfold thy petals wide, 

And lend a cheering ray. 

Live for the maiden fair, 
Who bade me cherish thee ; 

Her of the silken hair, 
Of spirit blithe and free. 

Bright flow'ret of the vale. 
With face of azure smile ; 

I list thy pleasant tale, 

Thy language hath no guile. 



25 

The friend of gentle heart, 
Who cuU'd thee for my view, 

May far away depart 

To clime she never knew ; 

But I'll not deem it wrong 
To string my cheerful lyre. 

And bid my harp prolong 
Her praise on every wire. 

Gem from the mountain side. 
Droop not too soon away ; 

Unfold thy beauties wide. 
And smile with me to-day. 



TO lANZA. 

Say not, lanza, it is rude in me. 

To gaze so oft with eyes intent on thee. 

On thy fair brow, oh, give not frowns a place ! 

Why blight the orbs that beam upon thy face ? 

I learn'd the lesson on my mother's knee. 

To prize whate'er is beautiful to see. 

I've sought bright orange groves and myrtle bowers. 

Amid whose charms I've dream'd away sweet home. 

I've watch'd the bright rose spread its petals fair. 
And quafPd its incense with the balmy air ; 
I've roam'd the blossom'd woods, through verdant lawn, 
To breathe among the flowers at early dawn. 
3* 



26 



And I would ask, lanza, if 'tis wrong, 

When nature smiles, to breathe her praise in song ? 

Say, if before me charming objects rise 

And I admire, should I be deem'd unwise ? 



BOOKS. 



What are books but the embodiment of ideas — the 
registered thoughts of men, regarding past, present, and 
future time, circumstance, and things connected with 
life, death, and immortality ? Some books, like some 
men, are of inestimable value ; while others, on the con- 
trary, are but the emissaries of evil, calculated only to 
tarnish and destroy the symmetry of the world's physical 
and moral beauty. To discriminate between the two 
classes and place a proper value where it rightly belongs, 
is not a difficult task. Perhaps it were better never read 
at all, than read without discrimination. 

He will stand as an " unmoved rock," who shall, with 
intelligent pen, appeal to the best feelings of the heart; 
whose chosen themes shall be the beautiful in nature 
and the attributes of nature's God. 

Fearless may be the pen which courts the fair goddess 
Truth, though that pen be not moistened with the fluid 
of deepest learning, or wear the magic of wealth or fame. 



27 



THE RURAL PIC-NIC 



Being one of the party I thus tuned my harp in the Sagamore 
woods. 



The hour we had sighed for, to meet in the grove, 

Dawned on us with beautiful smile ; 
And many were dreaming, soon thither to rove, 

To dispel gloomy care for awhile. 

The light fleecy clouds high up o'er the earth, 

Floated gaily along the blue sky ; 
And the soft breathing zephyrs just summoned to birth, 

From the westward came playfully by. 

The birds were attuning their harps in the shade. 
Of the tangled and sweet perfumed wood ; 

And the lamb and its yew were at play in the glade, 
Near the spot where the feast table* stood. 

Fine coaches were out on the innocent race, 

With steeds gaily haruess'd by fours ; 
And merrily on, for the " Sagamore Place," 

Joyous bosoms were gliding by scores. 

But not in delusion, going thither to die 
'Neath a Juggernaut'' s merciless wheel ; — 

'Tis Temperance they follow, with bright, eager eye ; 
At the shrine oithis genius they kneel. 

*Pic-Nic table. 



28 



They enter with song of delight, the green bower 

Near the banks of the bright Sagamore, 
And tall waving pines, and the wild running flower, 

Such a gathering ne'er witness'd before. 

Beneath the cool shade of the high, festoon'd trees, 

The loaded feast table stands by ; 
And fann'd by the summer's delectable breeze. 

Are the happy hearts, lingering nigh. 

On the moss-covered rock, where the savage once trod 

With the tomahawk grasp'd in his hand, 
Stands the orator firm in the name of his God, 

Proclaiming good news in the land. 

The old woods that once shook to the Indian's rude tramp 

And re-echoed the dismal war-cry — 
Now joyfully wave o'er the peacemaker's camp, 

For the Savage and Rum are not nigh. 

Sweet voices are blended of maiden and swain, 

And matron, and stranger, in song; 
While the woods sweetly echo the notes back again. 

And thus the sweet music prolong. 

The gay smiling damsels of volatile air, 

And eyes beaming clear as the sun, 
Are seeking bright flow'rets to bind in their hair. 

E'er the banquet is broken and done. 

Come husband and lady, come belle and come beau, 
Flies a voice through the green wood along ; 

Oh come, — partake freely, — then homeward we'll go. 
Singing gaily a temperance song. 



29 



Here's refreshment spread out by the delicate hand, 

And also, the purest of ale * — 
Around tlic fix'd table united we'll stand, 

And sup, in the soft summer gale. 

The repast is over — and filled is each heart 
With friendship, and love and delight — 

No rude bacchanalian enacted a part 
In the scene so enchanting and bright. 



LIFE 



Our first free breath is but a sign 

Of ills soon to o'ertake us ; 
And tliough the sun may sometimes shinc- 

The storms of life will shake us. 
Our pulse is but the muffled sound 

Of a fixed clock within. 
Whose wheels oft cease to move around 

E'er one has learnt to sin. 

Those tones the infant voice first made, 

Did but betoken sorrow ; 
For oh ! our sunny hopes may fade 

'Neath gloomy skies to-morrow. 



*Cold Water. 



30 

The first light step of infant glee 

Begins a journey drear ; 
Each stride leads to a dismal sea 

That all must view with fear. 

The first shrill laugh of buoyant youth, 

A signal is for tears ; 
All hearts must learn the cheerless truth, 

That pain comes with our years. 
The hopeful heart that yields to love, 

In grief may learn to know 
Affection truest shines above ! 

We may not trust below. 

Tlie man that yearns for shining gold, 

Sighs only for a rock, 
Whereon his bark of slender mould, 

May stiike with fatal shock. 
And him who seeks the path of fame 

Will find it barren soil ; 
What is there in a burning name, 

To pay for years of toil ? 

Life — oh, how subtle is the tide, 

That sweeps along our bark ; 
Oft are we rock'd from side to side 

Then sink we in the dark. 
Why court the pleasures of the gay. 

When life's so brief a span ? 
Go stand beside the dead and say, 

To this was born frail man. 



31 



ON VIEWING THE GREAT COMET OF 1843. 



'Tis night — keen, frosty night. 
Nature is chill'd to silence in the grasp, 
The blighting grasp of haggard Winter. All 
Is drear and solemn as the sable tomb. 
But scenes so cheerless I will now forget, 
And heavenward lift my eyes, and turn my thoughts. 
There I behold ten thousand sparkling gems, 
Each in itself a world unknown, sublime ; 
And swift almost as mystic thoughts, they fly : 
Fly on and on, through space unmeasurable, save 
By Him that drew, with his own Finger, each 
And every pathway in whose round exact 
Must run those golden orbs. 

But now my eager eyes 
Are fixed on one amid the burning train, 
Beneath whose light, faint hearts are wont to (juail. 
And at wliose coming, science wakes anew. 
My soul with wonder startles while I ask 
Whence came thou, Stranger ? — whither tendest thou ? 
I cannot move — thy glory chains me fast ; 
But while on earth the sinewy temple stands. 
The soul steals out and upward wings its way 
To learn thy path and destiny. 

Oh! say 
Celestial stranger on swifl wings of fire. 
What is thy mission ? shall we joy or fear ? 



32 



With all thy flashing in yon high blue arch ; 
Throughout thy blazing course, what holds thee up ? 
What saves us from thy heated vapor ? Who, 
Who holds thee on thy track, wild flaming star, 
And bids thee come not near this ball terrestrial ? 

No more I ask — 
Methinks I hear of harmony a strain 
Like " music of the spheres," and as it floats 
Along, my willing ears catch up the sound. 
It is a " still small voice" like that which Grod 
Is breathing ever to the sons of men : 
And I perceive how oceans lash the shore 
Within a given bound : how planets move 
In harmony together through the sky : 
Why these eccentric wanderers on high 
That show long trains of wondrous light — why they 
With all their sister orbs, dare not o'erleap 
The mark of law divine. 

Oh, why should fear 
Come o'er a heart that owns a Power Supreme ? 
Why talk oi mystery'? — where God is known. 
At once this theme is solved. Blot from the page 
Of faith His name, whose impress all things wear, 
And oh ! how drear our wanderings below ! 



33 



TIIEY TELL ME SO. 



They tell me she is soon to be 

Another's happy bride ; 
That with the city's giddy throng, 
Gaily she's wont to dance along, 

O'er life's unruffled tide. 

They say that her dilating eye. 
Of cffre breathes not a ray. 
Her cheek with beauty still is rife, 
And all around her light and life : 
I heed not all they say. 

There was a footstep once she mark'd 

With warm and joyous heart ; 
A name that lingered on her ear, 
Like tones of music sweetly clear, 
Unwilling to depart. 

That step is wont to trace the glade 

Where erst we used to stray, 
I gaze around the favorite bower, 
But cannot see the genial flower 
That lit my lonely way. 

Methinks I see the bridal gems 

Now ready by her side ; 
And soon, in dazzling sheen, she'll stand 
With sparkling jewels on her hand. 

The peerless — perjured bride. 
4 



34 

But where will mem'ry take her then ? 

Back to the gloomy past ; 
Sad whisperings will greet her ear, 
Of future pictures dark and drear, 

And sorrow to the last. 



THE ANONYMOUS LETTER. 



Adders and asps are what they are : 

il/an is a meaner and more deadly thing 
"When lie forgets the truth — and sneakingly 
Sends venom to his neighbor's heart. 

The foul winged messenger of surly face 
Darts forth to stamp on some pure brow disgrace, 
Too modest for its author's name to bring, 
But not too vile with siren voice to sing. 

It comes, with demon voice, to fill the ear 
With dark, delusive tales — with stories drear : 
It weaves a strain more doleful than the knell 
Of hollow voices bidding earth farewell. 

It comes with graceful bow and studied smile, — 
Deception in its form, and rife with guile ; 
Snatched out of hades, and by demons thrown 
To fire the bowers where friendship long has grown. 

Robed in disguise, it hastens to unfold 
False tales and dark, as none hut fiends have told ; 
Tales basely penned at hateful gossips^ will. 
Whose deepest study is, how they shall kill. 



35 

ON MUSIC. 



" The man that hath not music in himself, 

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; 

The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 

And his affections dark as Erebus; 

Let no such man be trusted." — Shakspert. 

Whex the Almighty fiat went forth, "let there be 
light," Music was baptized the child of heaven. The 
glowing stars caught the inspiration and joyously sang 
together. Each new illumined planet moved harmoni- 
ous on its restricted orbit, echoing back sweet melodies 
to the sunlit earth, — for the earth itself heard the voice 
of Jehovah, and joined in the glorious concert of the 
shining sisterhood, looking beautifully down through the 
azure heavens. The morning and evening zephyrs bore 
on their wings harmonious breathings, like tones of 
cherub voices from the upper skies , and the beneficent 
Creator was pleased to listen to the sweetly blending 
harmonies of his own power. The insupportable gloom 
which must pervade the world without the voice of music, 
was foreseen by the Creator, who, with gracious finger 
touched the mystic harp of nature, whose cheering melo- 
dies filled the universe, to echo and re-echo, 

From star to star in heaven's vast azure plain. 
From shore to shore across the trackless main. 
Through woodlands, and among the towering hills, 
O'er flowery meads, and by the purling rills. 
So long as heaven smiles on the world below, 
Or mountains rise, or crystal fountains flow. 



J6 



In spite of the world's cold calculation and groveling 
pursuits, we feel that there is poetry and a love for the 
beautiful interwoven with our spiritual existence ; and we 
yearn for some medium more congenial or powerful than 
oral or written language, hy which to express the deeper 
feelings. 

This medium is music, which enables the soul to un- 
bosom its innermost harmonies in the searching language 
of song ; or breathe out, what the tongue may not tell, the 
heart's deep hidden sentiments through the agency of 
some musical instrument. It was this feeling that in- 
fluenced the pen of one of nature's true poets, to say — 

" Music I oh, how faint, how weak, 

Language fades before thy spell : 

Why should feeling ever speak. 

When thou can'st breathe her soul so well." 

The inhabitants of the great globe, whether found at 
the Artie pole, or at the Torrid zone ; among the tower- 
ing mountains of Kurope, or bending before dumb idols 
in the remote corners of Asia ; clustering near the 
sunny fountains, or roaming the wild jungles of Africa ; 
at the loom, or the plough, or hunting in the green forests 
and mountains of America ; whether civilized or uncivil- 
ized, all find existence irksome without music of some 
kind. Deprived altogether of this " original constituent 
of creation," what appalling silence and monotony would 
pervade the world ! Haggard and grim spectres would 
visit us by night, and suspicious fears everywhere bi'ood 
in our pathway by day. ***** 

Music and poetry conjointly arrayed are sorry comfort- 
ers to despotism, slavery, bigotry or fanaticism. 



37 



A Byron or a Burus might pour forth from the soul of 
genius a single strain of fire, whose burning melody would 
light the worn and drooping spirits of a hesitating army, 
and lead them on to splendid victory. 

A Shakspere might delineate the character, and ex- 
pose the intrigues and hypocrisy of the Avorld personified 
in a Hamlet, so that the music of his imagination would 
ring upon the dull cars of vicious millions, till they felt a 
deep sense of their errors, and returned to the path of 
virtue. 

At a single sweep of his lyre, a Cowper might reani- 
mate the bowed spirit, and rekindle the fires of liberty so 
high that slavery and abject servitude, in whatever form, 
would be seen only to be hated and hurled back to their 
original and stygian abode. 

A Beethoven, a Ilaydn, a IVInzart, a Mendelsohn, might 
hold at will tlic hearts of the listening multitude, so that 
nothing the grosser world could present, would induce 
them to disengage the feelings from the delicious enchant- 
ment of those minstrels of heaven-gifted genius. 

A Madam Catalani, a Malibran, a Wood, a Jenny 
Lind , as commissioners to settle a war question, might 
present themselves before a garrison of ready musketry 
and artillery, and at their first harmonious overture the 
enemy, with hearts softened and souls entranced, would 
lay down their arms and hold up the olive branch of 
peace. 

See the martyi*s of old, with pinioned hands and feet 
suspended over the slow kindling faggots, consuming inch 
by inch — doomed to such barbarous fate by j^reposterous 
fools and nefarious villains — see them, — hear them sing- 
ing songs of spiritual triumph over their sanctimonious 
4* 



88 



murderers. Even while consuming in the lurid flames, 
those martyrs could " associate music with the bliss which 
awaits the soul in anotlier world." 

Music awakens the slumbering chords of tlie soul to a 
vivid sense of the beautiful and good. The silken ties of 
affection are keenlj^ susceptible to its electric touch. " It 
drives out of the heai-t vile passions and imaginations, 
and fills it with high and holy aspirations. Judiciously 
used, it will cheer the spirits, expand the soul with mag- 
nanimity, benevolence and compassion ,' sooth its anguish 
and elevate it to the sublimity of devotion." 

It is of divine emanation, was coexistent with the uni- 
verse, and Is coetcrnal Avith the fadeless joys of Paradise. 



FALSE COLORS. 

SUGGESTED ON HEAUIXG THE IXXOCENT DEFAMED- 



I've watched the ocean Rover, 

"With false colors to his mast. 
In artful tack, survey the bark 

That struggled in the blast. 
And seen him, like a seabird skim 

Along the crested main. 
Till he could grapple with the prize 

His fiendish heart would gain. 

" Luff boys," the Rover hoarsely cries^ 
" Let fly the signal black, 



39 

The ship is ours, as we shall see — 

Her topsails are aback. 
Draw the keen knife — prepare to " board," 

Spare none to lisp the talc ; 
Secure the gold, apply the torch, 

And we are with the gale." 

Not in this form alone, appears 

The foe in friendship's sheen ; 
On land^ as well as ocean drear. 

False colors oft arc seen. 
The idle gossip floats about 

With every changing gale, 
And with her siren voice, she breathes 

A life-corroding tale. 

The nymph and swain catch up the sound 

And pipe it o'er and o'er. 
Till Love's bright wreath droops in the blast. 

And Friendship lives no more. 
" Who steals my purse, steals trash" — but ah, 

To rob me of my name. 
Is more than Pirate could demand, — 

Defamcr ! where's thy shame ? 

Forbear, ye rovers on the land, 

Nor steal what gold can't buy ; — 
The brightest flower to scamlaVs touch 

May droop its head and die. 
Take heed — give freedom to each sail — 

Bear up for Virtue's light, 
Or Justice, ever on the wing, 

Will 'mind you of its might. 



40 



SmtMER'S RETURN. 



She comes all adornerl with bright odorous roses, 
And -wears a sweet smile that enraptures the heart; 
She comes from a clime where the jasmine reposes, 
Where spice-breathing zephyrs ne'er sigh to depart. 

She comes like a maiden of exquisite beauty, 
And breathes in our pathway her soul-stirring song ; 
Oh, why do we slumber while summon'd to duty ? 
Why choose we the din of the city's rude throng ? 

List, list to the music, as sweetly 'tis faUing, 

On every soft zephyr it floats to our ear ; 

The birds of bright plume to each other are calling. 

And all is delightful, for Summer is here I 

The fields at her touch are bespangled with flowers, 
And mountains and valleys rejoice at her call ; 
Oh ! who cannot find in the cool, blossom'd bowers, 
A charm never met with in fashion's gay hall? 

The Summer is here — quite as youthful as ever, 
For time cannot furrow her fair, sunny brow ; 
But ah, she has wings ! — and will hasten to sever ! 
And yet, she would stay, did the clime but allow. 

Then away to the Avoods while gay nature is smiling. 
And tossing her sweet perfumed gems all around ; 
There's nought in the lesson she breathes that's beguiling^ 
Oh ! come then, repair to the bright flowery ground. 



41 



REFLECTIONS OF AN OLD MAN. 



'TwAS twilight hour — 
I saw an old man leaning on his staff, — 
His features haggard, and his looks were white. 
The blight of fourscore years was on his brow, — 
A tear suffused his eye, and quivering hung his lip. 
Sigh after sigh escaped his breast ; — Ilis harp 
Seem'd set to sorrow ; and metliought I heard 
Its lone lament go out upon the breeze 
Of evening, thus : — 

Those golden hours of dreaming youth, 

How soon they pass away. 
And leave us withering in the shade 

Of cold and sunless day. 
These eyes once bright, are faint and dim — 

And furrowed is my cheek ; 
I'm smitten by the frost of time, 

^Vherc shall I comfort seek ? 

I cannot revel 'mong bright flowers 

With schoolmates light and free, 
As in those early days, ah, no — 

Those ibrms no more I see. 
Nor stoop at brink of cr}stal spring 

And quaff its pure delight, 
'Neath balmy grove, with genial hearts 

Who blessed my boyhood's sight. 



42 

I cannot roam with tiny step, 

Through sweet ambrosial bowers, 
And hail the birds of gentle beak 

That earroU 'mong the flowers. 
And oh, I've lost that 'lastic nerve, 

That oft o'er placid lake 
Was wont to urge my skiff along, 

With light hearts in my wake. 

And was I once that ruddy boy, 

Whose cheek wore such a glow 
When pressed by a fond mother's lip ? 

Alas, 'tis even so ! 
Relentless Time has swept away 

Those gems that fed my gaze ; 
And soon his blighting, freezing breath. 

Must chill tJiis ftiinting blaze. 

The dream, though fraught with pain, is sweet,- 

'Tis past, — I am alone ; — 
I will not sigh for youth again, 

For lost ones, will not moan. 
Though wreaths of sparkling roses croAvned 

My brow in e,arly day, 
How have I felt the lurking thorn 

Stealing my life away ! 

Upon life's sea of boisterous wave, 

Lash'd by the angry blast, 
My bark has struggled fearful on. 

With bent and shattered mast. 
And one might read in these moist eyes, 

A story of the past ; 



43 

The inward harpstrings rudi'ly riven, 
And gloom about me east. 

Then oh, my soul, thy yearnings cease. 

Nor backward look in vain ; 
But speed thee on, my trembling bark, 

And leave this sea of pain. 
Hope aids me here to fix my gaze. 

On yon Celestial bower. 
Where youtli and love forever dwell, 

And Time is 'reft of powei". 



THE DEAD CHILD. 

SUGGESTED ON SEEING A YOUNG MOTHER KISS HER 
LIFELESS INFANT. 



I HEARD a voice of mourning — 
And I learnt 'twas a fond mother 
Bending o'er her lifeless infant, 
While like some chizzled statue, fine, it laj- 
Wrapt in its robe of white, outstretched and cold ; 
Its placid brow and angel fai.'C would seem 
Almost to dry up all its parents' tears — 
Still gazed the mother ; and methought I heard, 
Amid loud freepient sighs, her harp thus tuned : 

Jewel my own, my lov'd, my lost, — 
I stoop to kiss thy marble brow ; — 

Those eyes so fix'd by death's keen frost, 
Can shed no radiance on me now. 



44 

No, no, alas ! — nor can those arms 
Of ivory liue, about me twine ; — 

My child ! — oh ! have those infant charms 
On me forever ceased to shine ? 

No breath, no pulse, no smile for me — 
No sweet embrace — my dearest, wake ! 

Nor let me call in vain to thee, 

Else a fond mother's heart will break. 

With acliing heart in vain I call, 

And thy dread silence chills my blood ; 

O'er thee my gushing tears must fall. 
Seeming almost a crimson flood. 

I will embrace thee, e'en though death 
Has thrown his mantle round thy bier, 

And o'er thee pause with trembling breath 
While thou in silent sleep art here. 

But why despair — when Hope is near ; 

To bid me calm each burning sigh ? 
My beautiful, my treasure dear. 

We only part to meet on high. 



45 



ON THE DEATH OF A BROTHER. 

In pursuit of a beloved brother, in the fall of 1837, I 
was on my way to a hotel in New Orleans, the place by 
appointment for us to meet ; — stepping into the post- 
ofliec T received a letter apprising me of liis death in 
East Florida. 



And has he fallen ? 
Has that bright taper ceased so soon to burn ? 
Those eyes — loved eyes — beaming with youthful fire, 
Shall we behold no more their cheering light ? 
And no more hear his soothing voice "i* 

O Death ! 
*' Keen Archer!" — swift, relentless, fly 
Thine arrows, bringing low alike the small 
And great, the youth and hoary head. 
Father of Light ! what other source than Thou 
In this dark hour can bid th>3 troubled soul 
Be calm ? O raise from its deep gloom 
The spirit Thou behold'st now stricken low ! 
Tie after tie that make life dear, dissolved — 
Link after link of that endearing chain 
Which binds in sweet affection heart with heart, 
Are sundered — yet why do I murmur thus ? 

Friends waited long, (alas !) 
AVith anxious pulse to meet once more the eyes 
Of him who sighed full oft in distant land 
For home — but vainly did they hope. The cold 
Rude finger of the ' tyrant Death' had press'd 
Its icy touch upon the youth's fair brow. 



46 



*" * * Could one dear friend 
Beside his wasting form have stood, to meet 
His last fond gaze — to whisper words of love, 
And cool with balmy drops his fever'd lips. 
He would have breathed to Heaven a grateful prayer, 
And sunk in smiles away. But ah I 
It was not so. No gentle sister's care, 
Or mother's ever watchful, tender eye. 
Or father's, brother's mellow voice could reach 
The dying youth — yet still, no murmur 'scaped 
His lips. He said, " My Father, holiest, best ! 
In all thy dealings in my destiny. 
To Thine own will may I submissive be." 
And soon the chilly drops on his pale brow, 
Told with the silent pulse that all was o'er. 

He died, alas ! while in his youth and bloom. 
Away from friends. In distant land of gloom ; 
Affection's tear ne'er falls upon his grave ; 
He sleeps alone — and o'er him wild weeds wave. 



THE SEASONS. 



The stern old man Winter, with finger of steel. 
And with rude frosty mantle, has fled ; 

And the airy-winged minstrels, with stirring appeal, 
Come to tell us of Spring in his stead. 



47 



Yon cottage no longer is buried in snoAv, 

Nor its inmates with agony toss'd ; 
For the spring-time is come, and the brooks again flow, 

And the poor do not feel the keen frost. 

But ah ! who can tell, whilst the winter clouds frown'il, 
IIow many sunk 'ncath their chill shade ; 

IIow many now sleep on the drear ocean ground, 
By the fury of storms lowly laid. 

But these sad reflections will darken the hour, 

Which has opened upon us so bright ; 
Then again to my theme, ere it loses its power, 

And my muse on swift pinion takes flight. 

The Spring, in her beautiful vest, comes again, 

With her promises cheering and mild ; 
And she breathes out her music to dissipate pain 

From the breast of the sorrowful child. 

Creation rejoiceth — all nature is free ; 

Each young bud and blade thus declare ; 
Old Winter's wry visage no longer we see, 

He has vanished — and soft is the air. 

O, next in her turn golden Summer will come, 
With her birds and sweet music and flowers ; 

When maidens and swains then together will roam, 
To rejoice in the cool hawthorn bowers. 

But all in fair nature again will be drear. 

For the autumnal breezes must blow ; 
"When the sere leaf will whisper that winter is near. 

And remind us of changes below. 



48 



But oil, round the heart, borne on beautiful mng, 

A lone messenger hovers, of love ; 
It is Hope — and she points to a more perfect sprinor, 

To an unfading sunniier above^ 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 



SUGGESTED ON THE SUDDEN PASSING AAVAY OF A 
BLOOMING AND AMIABLE YOUNG LADY. 



-She was beautiful- 



But ah, how soon that form of heavenly mould, 
Claim'd of its mother earth, a resting place. 
Tliat cheek of damask, for the darkling warm 
To feast upon, full soon, alas ! is laid 
Deep in. its clayey cell. 

"When summer brought 
Us back sweet flowers, to gem each garden walk. 
And beauteous birds came to us with their songs 
Of joy— when purling fountain, radiant field. 
And blossom'd woods in gladness smiled. Oh then 
With step elastic, 'long the bright green earth. 
She mov'd — a jewel all of loveliness ! 
Her radiant eyes told of a guileless heart ; 
Each feature wore the impress of a mind 
Within, refined. She seem'd too fair a flower 
To bloom beneath the skies^ 



Unseen, unheard, 
" The insatiate Archer" lurked— resolved this prize 
To win. With steady gaze, — reluctant half, 
To blight her sunny hope, he paused ; — again 
Resolving, bent the fatal bow, sprung quick 
The cord, and swift the poisoned arrow flew. 
Proud of success, he onward hied, leaving 
His victim, still unconscious of her fate — 
To fade and die. 

Months fleet away — her eye 
Gives token 'neath its languid lid, that all's 
Not well within. The once bright crimsoned cheek 
Now wears a sickly hue, save now and then 
The hectic flush deceitful comes. Upon 
Her, friends intensely anxious gaze, but nought 
Of death is uttered, hoping yet to crush 
The canker-worm that gnaws unseen within. 

Upon the dreary couch 
With sunken eye, and form emaciate, now 
She lingers. Friends are watching every look 
And sign she gives. The eye of sympathy, 
The cup of balm, the voice of love, are all 
Within her dying chamber ; and she feels. 
While racked with pain, that all the ties of love 
And friendship, must be torn asunder, aye. 
The thousand charms which bind & favored child 
To earth, must now forgotten be. She looks 
With sweet composure all around, and bids 
Her weeping friends once more adieu. Tlie last 
Low throbbing pulse has told the tale. She yields 



50 

With placid smile to death. Her spirit pure, 
By hovering angels now is caught, and borne 
Away to realms of endless bliss. 

The Harp that so sweetly in tune lingered here, 
When bright flowrets bloomed o'er the ground, 

Is now tuneless and still, 'neath the winter clods drear. 
Yet its music seems floating around. 

Yes — in fancy we hear, blending sweet with the lute, 

Her low mellow tones shed at will ; 
And though now, beneath the cold stone, she is mute. 

In our hearts, lives her memory still. 



THE ORPHAN'S LAMENT. 

SUGGESTED ON SEEING AN UNFORTUNATE ORPHAN ROY 
WEEPING ALONE, NEAR THE GRAVES OF HIS PARENTS. 

My father, my mother — Oh, where have they gone V 
iSIy brothers, ami sisters too,, where, where are they ? 

Ah, who will now pity me, wretched and lorn, 

Since all who would love me sleep 'neath the cold clay. 

I stand and behold here the graves of the dead. 
And I cnll — but they v/hisper no answer to me ; 

! would that with them I could pillow my head, 
Where they slumber so sweetly, from trouble so freo.. 

But ah ! I'm a wanderer bereft of a guide. 

And about me the mantle of sorrow is thrown ; 

Unto whom can I speak — in what bosom confide, 
Now the spirits that blessed me are all of them flown '^ 



51 



If I turn to the right, or the left, 'tis the same, 
Forover awaits me the world's cruel frown ; 

On the altar of friendship, gone out is the flame, 
That promised to guide me to days of renown. 

I mourn — for the friends of my youth are all gone ; 

I sigh for the smiles of my parents so dear ; 
I think with regret of the hour I was born. 

And I shrink to contemplate the future, so drear. 

With storm-clouds surrounded, ]>\ rude breezes borne. 
My bark o'er the sea of life tremblingly flies j 

Bui though lashed by the tempest, I'll cease me to mourn, 
For I know there is rest— there's a home in the skies. 



THE REFORMED SAILOR. 



At the " Seamen's Home," in this town, one of Nep- 
tune's brave and hardy sons, who had long been devoted 
to his early love, the " Jug," through the kind persuasion 
of the benevolent landlady, determined to forsake the 
treacherous bowl ; and as a token of the victory he firmly 
resolved to achieve, presented the Jug, to which he had 
long been endeared, to her whom he had voluntarily 
termed his mother. He became a reformed man. 



MOTHEK, a sailor though I am. 
My wayward heart can feel : — 

Thy tones of sadness touch my soul» 
Thine is a. friend's appeal. 



52 

I've borne full oft the cruel lash, 
But nought could stripes avail ; 

Before the tyrant arm of man 
Your sailor ne'er would quail. 

Kindness the stubborn heart can move : 

See on my cheek a tear : 
No foe e'er saw a gem like this, 

From eye despising fear. 
Mother, I'll take thy kind advice, 

Breathed with subduing voice : — 
As proof I'm firm, take now this jug, 

It is no more my choice. 

But list a moment — let me dwell 

Upon the gloomy past : 
A score of years — sad tale to tell — 

This jug I've held full fast. 
Oft have I raised to shipmate's lip, 

The cup whose sting is death ; 
And by it seen the sailor fall. 

With curses on each breath. 

In foreign clinie where orange flowers 

Bloom in their native bed, 
I've parents, brothers, sisters too,— 

And tears for iTie they've shed. 
Long, long o'er ocean's restless wave, 

Far from a home of joy, 
Has wandered, wiih this Ireaclierous friend ^ 

The' hardy ocean boy. 



SB 

At length his ship with steady keel, 

And cloud of snowy sail, 
Flies like a seabird, beautiful, 

Before the gentle gale. 
See ! she has rounded to the breeze, 

Her anchor now is cast ; — 
In peaceful haven, lo, she floats, 

Secure from angry blast. 

Mother, this safety-port is here, 

When tempests hover round ; 
Thou art the wandering sailor's guide, 

Showing where rest is found. 
The " Seaman's Home," — name ever tk-ar, 

Here first I furled my sail ; 
And learnt I had a heart, a soul, — 

O'er follies could bewail. 

Long have I roam'd, a stubborn child, 

Of stern, unflinching eye ; — 
But let the past be all forgot, 

And homeward let me hie. 
I'll spread once more my canvass wide, 

And through the deep sea wave. 
My bark hhall speed to foreign clime, 

E'er friends all find a grave. 

And, mother, I will talk of thee, 

Of all thy kind reproof; 
And tell how eager thou didst pray, 

I'd keep from sin aloof. 
Mother, I love no more the bowl, 

Thou'st sounded the alarm, 



54 

And drawn me ■with an angel's power, 
From the destroyer's charm. 

Friends of the " Sailor^s Home," adieu, 

On you may heaven smile ; 
And, kindest Mother, fare thee well, 

Thy bosom knows no guile. 
Home of my second birth, farewell, — 

I leave with fond regret ; — 
Land of the Seaman's Friends, adieu ! 

Thee I will ne'er forget. 



MISS SHEPHERD AND HER FISH. 

Oct. 1840. — Married in New- York; Mr. Preserved Fish 
to Miss Alary Shepherd. 



A Fish preserved ! ho, come and see ! 

The gentle Mary cried ; 
A Fish has long been seeking me, 

And I'm at last his bride ! 
I had been taught in early youth 

That fishes never spoke, — 
What my old grandma'am sung for trutli, 

Turns out to be a joke. 

Although a Shepherd, I'd no flock 

Of little lambs to tend ; 
And oft b}' favorite mossy rock 

My lonesome hours I'd spend. 



55 

One (lav I ch;tnocd to linger near 

A purling, crystal stream ; 
When soft tones fell upon my ear 

Like music in a dream. 

I gazed upon the placid brook, 

But saw no image there : 
I turned me round with anxious look. 

And all was still and fair : 
But suddenly, from silent glade, 

Forth came a lonely Fish ; 
Nor fins, nor wings had he — but made 

Just as my heart could wish. 

He spoke ! — which proved my grandma'am wronj 

His voice was like a bird ; 
His soft appeal he breathed in song, 

I answered not u word : 
But all the lime it was my wish 

This creature were but mine : 
I never saw so fine a fish 

Brought up by hook and line. 

He breathed again a plaintive lay, 

And craved a Shepherd's care ; 
He asked, if light there was, one ray 

That he my hopes could share. 
Said I, long, long I've fancied Fish, 

And now my heart is thine ; 
S.iid he, / have no other wish, 

Xow Mary Shepherd's mine. 



56 



THE EEJECTED. 



TuK dance is up — the story's told, 
And I, alas ! have failed to win ! 
I tuned my harp, and thought 'twould hold, 
But wires were wanting — made of gold ; 
Without such strings " you can't come in" 

The girl for whom I strung my lyre, 

(Which by the way is cracked in twain,) 
Flung me aside into the mire, 
And fancied I Avould there expire ; 
But, " Richard is himself again. '^ 

'Tis true she warbled like a dove. 

And all for me, " long time ago," 
And somatimes used to talk of — love, 
When stars were glowing bright above ; 
But lastly her sweet song, was " No 1" 

There was a time she whispered " Yes" 
(Which bade my doubting heart be glad,) 

The vow was sealed with a kiss, 

And I began to think of bliss, 

Till her tune changed — then, oh, how sad ! 

I bowed and gathered up my pack, 

And presto, I ran o'er the hill, 
For oh, I'd fears she'd call me back, 
As oft she'd done with artful nack, 

And I'd no wish to take the pill. 



m 

Three times anew I bade ^^fareweW 

To my own love, Miss Pickle ; 
And strange as it may seem to tell, 
She each time said, / did rebel. 

And in her note, she called me ^\fickle.' 

At last she gave the fatal blow 
Which laid poor Richard flat ; 

Thinks he, it was'nt long time ago 

She said, ne'er more would she do so — 

I wondered what she meant by that! 

But I'm a used up child, they say. 

Of my sad fate, ye swains beware : 
My bird has flown — ('tis all O. K.) 
I'll catch one on some sunny day ; 
Till then, I'm right side up with care. 



SONG OF THE SAILOR. 



Come down to old Ocean's dark caverns with me. 
Where in silence are sleeping the brave, 

Upon pillows of coral, low in the deep sea ; 
I shall claim there a spot for my grave. 

My home is the Ocean, whose high foaming crest 
Wet my brow while in infancy toss'd ; 

I was born on her bosom, and there will I rest, 
Till beneath the blue wave I am lost. 
6 



58 



I have roamed from my Infancy over the sea, 

Every where, like a lone restless dove ; 
From India's soft clime to the Emerald lea, — 

And the deep, heaving ocean I love. 

I've struggled with storms, 'mid the blue lightning's glare, 

While fearfully plunged our frail bark ; 
When old Neptune himself seemed half In despair, — 

And around us the sly, hungry shark. 

I've felt the rude breath of a keen Northern clime, 
. Where the icebergs of terror roll by. 
Towering and glltt'ring — cold mountains sublime. 
Where brave ones oft venture to die. 

And far in the South 's burning regions I've roamed, 
Where the hot lava files through the air ; 

On the mountain I've stood, while the crater has foamed , 
With its threat'ning and terrible glare. 

Upon a frail plank I've been thrown on the wave. 

And beheld our ship striving to float ; 
Seen her sink with the crew to a dark ocean grave, 

While a fragment alone was my boat. 

My parents, I've none — and my friends, where are they ? 

Side by side In the bed of the sea ; 
And o'er them the water-fowl chants his dull lay. 

And is waiting to breathe one o'er me. 

Then come to the sub-marine caverns with me. 
And behold there the good and the brave ; 

Let me sleep by their side — sleep at last in the sea ; 
While the billows above me shall lave. 



59 



ODE FOR A TEMPERANCE OCCASION. 

8CNG ON THE FOURTH OF JULY. 



All hail, all hail, ye soldiers bold, 
Who've lain the hydra monster low ; 
Plunge the keen spear, nor loose your hold 
Till his last fiendish blood shall flow. 

Strike riee/>— the tyrant feels your power — 
The thousand-headed dragon's down; 
Strike all — for now's the auspicious hour — 
See how he writhes with demon frown. 

Fair daughters of Columbia, rise ! 
And with your sires and brothers dear, 
Loud paeans raise e'en to the skies, 
A day of Jubilee is here. 

Rejoice ! — the mother's found her son, 
Long lost in Bacchanalian bower ; 
The wife her husband's smile hath won, 
For now he scorns the wine cup's power. 

The father is a father now, 

Since he has quit the treacherous bowl ; 

The brother wears a placid brow. 

Who pledged his name, and saved his soul. 

The mother, who forsook her child, 
To quaff the cup of liquid blaze. 
Is saved from error's thorny wild, 
And walks again in virtue's ways. 



Oh, friends of man, of Heaven, rejoice ' 
Our country's flag unfurl to-day, 
With motto " Temp'rance,'* Wisdom's choice, 
We feel her bright and cheering ray. 

Again, all hail ye soldiers bold, 
Beneath whose power the monster's chained ; 
Stand to your arms, nor yield your hold 
Till all is safe — the victory gained 1 



FLOWERS. 



Tis early dawn — and all around 

Bright dewy flowers I view, 
Uprising from the fertile ground, 

Of every form and hue. 
The waving trees in silken sheen. 

Unfold their blossoms gay ; 
And on each festooned bough is seen. 

Young minstrel birds at play. 

The vale, and hill, and balmy grove, 

With dewy gems are bright ; 
In mountain wilds, where'er we rove. 

Beauty attracts the sight. 
The caroling of happy birds. 

More joyous make the scene ; 
And pleasant 'tis to view the herds 

Trip round the velvet green. 

Tis morn — I trace the rosy aisles 
Of yonder garden rare ; 



61 



Each swelling bud seems fraught with smiles 
That thinking hearts may share. 

The tall tarnation pink is by 
With breath of incense sweet, 

Unlbkling splendors to each eye 
That will its beauties greet. 

I sit me by the tulip mound, 

Where fancy sheds her light ; 
Here gems of every tint abound. 

Most charming to the sight. 
The lily of the valley too, 

And the forgetme-not, 
Come Ibrth as stars of light, anew 

To gild the garden spot. 

The damask rose and myrtle flowers, 

Narcissus and sweet pea, 
With lustre shine in garden bowers, 

As stars shine on the sea. 
Nature in lovliuess appears, 

To gladden every mind ; 
She may dispel our sighs and tears, 

True joys in her we find. 

'TLs noon — I rest by purling stream, 

Where grows the ivy vine ; 
Here oft I've strayed in youthful dream. 

Plucking the columbine. 
0, I will sing of flowers — a theme, 

For loftiest pen to dwell ; 
How faint must weaker efforts seem 

Their charms divine to tell. 

6* 



62 

V/here is the hand -vvoukl crash a flower 

Unheedf ul of its worth ? 
Ilim who outpours the genial shower;^ 

Is authaor of its birth. 
Oh, bring me flowers when the last, 

Last pulse has told its tale ; 
They'll cheer the scene amid the blast 

That turns the features pale. 



THE RESCUE. 



In the autumn of 1829, a beautiful schooner from 
Havana, bound to the Chesapeak Bay, fell far to leeward 
in a severe storm, could not make a harbor ; came near 
the shore, anchored and there foundered. Three individ- 
uals only, out of the crew and passengers, were rescued. 
The Captain's wife and infant chikl were almost miracu- 
lously saved by the noble daring of a stranger, who called 
his name Alberto. He said he had been wrecked a few 
weeks before near Cape Henry. 

He was travelling on foot towards New- York, and 
being overtaken by the storm in which the schooner was 
lost, sought and obtained shelter in a cottage near the 
seashore, not far from a small settlement. I'he Ibllowing 
poem was written after personal conversation with the 
hero of the adventure : 

'TwAS night in Autumn — lowery night; 

The waning moon hard strove to send 
Through moody clouds, her misty light, 
A stranger lone, swift speeds his way 
To sheltering roof near ocean spray; 
He gains the cot, and at the door, 

Pleads in a voice of manly tone, 
For rest upon the humble floor. 



63 



A voice within was quick to say, 
Whence stranger thou, so hitc this way ; 
Art friend ? — then may'st thou with me stay. 
Aye, friend, — Alberto is my name. 
And recent o'er yon sea I came. 
'Tis gloomy night, but here 'tis warm 

Within thy lowly roof, good sire ; 
A grateful shelter from the storm. 

***** 

Alberto to a couch is shown. 

And soon in dreamy rest he lay ; 
Unheeding now the dreary moan 

Of winds from o'er the foaming bay. 
The driving storm howls madder still, 

And more portentous every blast. 
Almost the heart's warm blood might chill. 

So dismal is the sky o'ercast. 

The dark, deep sea is rolling nigh. 

And breaking wild on craggy shore ; 
The spray shoots foaming to the sky, 

While all around is deafning roar. 
A struggling bark appears in view, 

Reefed close, she ploughs the curling wave 
" Sharp on the wind," with noble crew 

Striving to 'scape an ocean grave. 

She snuffs the gale the point to gain. 
Falls short and anchors near the shore ; 

Deep plunges in the stormy main 

The bark, with sails and rigging tore. 



64 

With leaky prow she heads the gale 
Rides high, and rolls in heavy trim ; 

Half horror struck the crew turn pale, 
At view of leeward breakers grim. 

All in a hurry on the wave 

The life-boat's launch'd from off the deck ; 
It braves the hissing brine, to save 

The anxious crew from fated wreck. 
Down o'er the storm-tossed vessel's side 

They hasten to the restless boat 
Which longs to battle with the tide, 

Away o'er curling Avaves to float. 

The boat has fiercely riven her fast, 

And darts with dolphin speed away ; 
Alas ! a wild and fearful blast 

O'erturns her in the whirling spray. 
Fast to her keel the hopeless crew 

With rending struggles cling for life ; 
But scattered by the gale they flew 

Amidst the breakers' gloom and strife. 
***** 

'Tis midnight past — Alberto wakes 

And hears the storm and ocean's roar ; 
A dim light on his vision breaks, 

'Tis in the bark just off Ihe shore. 
He starts — looks out with eager eye, 

I see, it is a torch light there ; 
A woman on the deck I spy ! 

I'll save her, else her fate I'll share. 



65 

The day dawns dismal to the sight, 

And mangled forms lay on the beach ; 
Alberto waves a signal bright 

That he shall dare that wreck to reach. 
Ho ! men of hearts that list around, 

Six of the boldest now I mark ; 
Dare ye with me at helm to bound 

O'er the wild wave to yonder bark ? 

Launch quickly then, yon little barge 
That hears with us the seaman's sigh ; 

To oars ! our duty we'll discharge. 
Beneath high heaven's guardian eye. 

# * * * * 

Now out upon the hurling wave 

The boat speeds dolphin-like away ; 

Alberto cries, Pull, fellows brave, 

Nor fear the gale, or threatening skies. 

In the lone bark, — a signal's there, 

I see the mother with her child ; 
Loose in the gale streams out her hair. 

She shrieks for aid in accents wild ! 
Bend the stout oars nor heed the surge, 

Those living forms this arm shall save, 
Else the shrill blast shall pipe a dirge 

Over my corse beneath the wave. 

To windward lads — strong be your pull. 
As high we mount th' impetuous swell ; 

Alberto's heart with hope is full, 
With him we all meet danger well. 



66 

Now with the gale speed o'er the spray 
Down to you struggling vessel's side ; 

Steady your pull, nor fear dismay, 
In our staunch boat will we confide. 

Sec boys ! the babe clings to her neck : 

Throw me the child ! Alberto cries : 
'Tis done, 'tis safe ! but from the wreck 

Swift as a flash the light boat flies. 
Hound to the surge, my boys, again 

With steady pull ! one efibrt more ! 
AVe'U bear from Avild and boist'rous main 

The fair young mother safe to shore. 

Now high on surges wild tlicy rise, 

Shooting undaunted through the storm ; 
J^ach heart throbs quick with anxious sighs, 

To save from death that living form. 
Bear down ! the " craft" is near at lee, 

Alberto's arm is strong to save : 
Now, now we mount a lengthen'd sea — 

Leap lady, leap from yawning grave. 

'Tis done, praise heaven I she's in the barge 
And to her bosom clasps her child ; 

Pull comrades with the precious charge 
And scape the breakers near us wild. 

Now at each dip of pliant oar, , 

Nearer she draws to safety ground ; 

And soon the adventurers gain the shore 
'Mong deeply anxious hearts around. 



67 

The fair lone mother witli her child 

Gazed on the brave Alberto's brow ; 
Blessed him and crew in breathings mild, 

And said, I'll ever bless as now. 
Then on the sand with bended knee 

While still the gale howled dismal by ; 
The rescued breathed her spirit free, 

In gratitude to God on high. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. H. W. C. 

OF MANCnKSTER, N. H. 

" Friends depart, and memory takes them 
" To her caverns, pure and deep." 

Silent and cold 
In narrow, deep, dark cell, lonely she sleeps ; 
Nor tears, nor fervent prayers, nor human skill, 
Could aught avail. The stern " grim archer" came ; 
Full soon alas ! and sprung the unerring bow : 
In her warm heart, deep sunk the fatal shaft ; 
One last keen struggle, and the shades of death 
Fell on her youthful brow. 

The chilling winds 
Bring on their wings the tidings sad — and hearts 
Where friendship dwells must swell and throb and a<lip. 
And generous eyes with burning tears grow dim, 
And genial souls lament, though all in vain. 



68 



Clad in dark vesture, weeping sad and lone, 
A Mother counts the cheerless hours away ; 
Counts one by one those hours as years of pain. 
Her star of hope which brightened all her years, 
Her treasured one, so blooming and so fair. 
The loved and lovely, is no more — no more. 
And bitter is his cup who lives to feel 
That ne'er those radiant eyes, his early choice, 
Can mark his coming more. 

Drear are the halls and bowers, 
Where echoed high her bldnd and cheerful voice ; 
And dull the mansion, reared to greet her step ; 
Gloomy the scenes where she was wont to roam ; 
Solemn the pathway to the young bride's grave. 

Yet not all gloom and dreariness this scene. 
Ah, no, — a spirit voice comes on the breeze 
And sweetly whispers, she is living still ! 
Mortal to immortality is changed ! 
The beauteous casket yields its treasure up, 
And stays behind, while the freed spirit soars 
On wings of gladness to its home above. 



69 



PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS. 

Perhaps the people of every country consider it an 
inherent right, to choose and patronize Avhatever kind 
of amusement they consider best adapted to their ideas of 
pleasure, taste and happiness. But we are too often mis- 
taken in our dim views of happiness, and sometimes 
lament our folly when it is too late. Early and bad 
influences may contaminate the whole current of a long 
existence. 

The mind may be trained to love that which tends to 
destroy its dignity and peace. Indiscreet indulgence 
may lead it to thirst for springs of water whose taste may 
be sweet at first, but bitter unto disgrace and death in 
the end. We know tliat theix; is a false and pernicious 
taste, which, in proportion as it is permitted to occupy 
the thoughts, will blunt the finer sensibilities, till by 
degrees a human being may relish only low pursuits 
and amusements. 

The gaudy saloons of Bacchus : the fascinating parlours 
wherein reclines abandoned virtue ; the dazzling stage 
of fantastic and obscene dancers; the entertainments of 
low negro delineations ; the ground and lofty tumbling 
and buffoonery of the circus — all have their devotees. 

Rome has nurtured and cherished her fancied indis- 
jjensable gladiators ; Egypt, her necromancers and magi- 
cians ; England, her hounds and hunters ; Spain, her 
dumb beast and human beast prize fighters ; France, her 
model artistes and multifarious frivolities; and the United 
States, claiming to be the most christianized and human- 

7 



70 



izcd, if not the highest in the arts and sciences, — to a 
considerable extent gives countenance, indirectly at least, 
to many if not all the low and demoralizing sports to 
which allusion is made. 

The nature of the amusements, lectures, &c. encour- 
aged by the approbation and lavish contributions of a 
community, would, by some judges, be considered the 
crucible by which to test the condition of the public mind. 
If the people be cultivated, truly refined and generous, 
they will be ever ready to encourage all efforts, however 
humble, which are made to promote the cause of virtw; 
and good lasle^ and turn away with loathing from exhibi- 
tions which only give an impulsive pleasure and unfavora- 
bly affect the public good. 



THE PROUD SPANIARD. 



Don Anselmo, a high-minded Spaniard, being suspected 
of committing improprieties destructive to social peace, 
and knowing his innocence, thus to his accusers strung 
his harp. 

Phosphorus is my name, 
I burn as none may tell ; 
This spirit who can tame. 
To treat it else than well ? 
I fear no lowering brow, 
Or scrulinizing eye ; 
I sail with daring prow, 
O'er seas that tower high. 



71 

Ne'er was I born to yield 
At threat of haughty foe, 
Or fear liim in the field, 
'Mid crimson gore and woe. 
The sanctimonious face, 
Sitting in judgment wise, 
Who'd brand me with disgrace, 
I dare e'en him despise. 

Bring on your locks of steel, 
These sinewy arms to bind ; 
My flesh may torture feel. 
But still is free the mind. 
Talk of a prison cold, 
And call your guard so brave ; 
Ye vassal minions, hold ! 
/ will not bow your slave- 
Come with the glist'ning spear 
In martial glow an-ayed, 
I ne'er was born to fear. 
Nor live to be dismayed ; 
Tlie torture of the wheel, 
And smart of burning lash. 
You fain would bid me feel — 
These threats I deem but trash. 

Show me your lurid fire. 
And bid me dread its heat, — 
^ly spirit soars still higher, 
Still proud this heart shall beat. 
Stern looks and flashing eyes, 
Bolts, bars, nor reeking spear 



72 

Sliall e'iei" this soul surpinse .; 
No human frowES I fear. 

But in this stubborn heart, 
Thei-e is a yielding string ; 
And touched with gentle art 
Tlie harp will music bring. 
Away with frowi^s and spears !' 
The proud soul will not yield t 
Kindness may summon tears, 
Love will comnmnd the field- 



LAMENT FOR SUMMER. 



Oh, where is the summer — the love breathing queeuv 

That gave us soft music and flowers ; 
And spread out her carpet of radiant green, 

On the hills, in the valleys, and bowers ? 

She came upon gold-tinted wings of delight,. 

With a breath of sweet perfimie for all ; 
The rividet, nieadow, and woodlajxl grew bright,. 

At the beautiful queer/s lo-ving call. 

The dreaming narcissus and tulip awx)ke> 

With the lily and violet blue ; 
Each flow'ret and bird, and mild zephyr bespoke 

A bright sunmier returning anew. 



73 



Tho. prove and the garden with music were rife, 

For tho birds caroU'd joyously there ; 
The lark and the robin sang all into life 

Which had bowed 'neath the keen winter air. 

She came — and all nature looked up with a smile, 

The herds were at sport in the vale, 
The trees hung in bright silken vesture awhile — 

Then died in the autumnal gale. 

Nay, nay — it were wrong, for no deatJi may come near. 
Though the rude breath of winter sweeps by ; 

'Tis but nature reposing, while thus all is drear, 
And the heart may not hopelessly sigh. 

Though fled is the queen of the rosy twined brow, 

Hope whispcre her genial return ; 
Of her lawns and bright blossoms I dream even now, — 

'^^^lat heart for those charms would not yearn '? 

Oh, sure she will come, with gay birds and sweet flower; 

Upon wings of new promises borne ; 
Her sunbeams of glory and soft falling showers, 

Shall restore the lost beauty we mourn. 



TRAPS. 

Suggested on seeing a friend misled. 

There are fly traps, and rat traps, 
And traps to catch foxes ; 

Some with teeth like a shark, 
Others, close cunning boxes, 

7* 



74 

There are coon traps, and bear traps, 
And traps to catch beavers, 

And bird traps, and fish traps, 
All ingenious deceivei-s. 

Bltt among all the sly traps 

And I reckon the worst. 
Is the life-stealing jjian-trap^ 

Into which he is thrust. 

Oh ! young man, and old man> 

Why walk yon therein ? 
This man-trap's a ?-t/m-trap ! 

Beware of its grin ! 

Stand up with pnoud jiVmness ; 

Look with sco7-n on temptation ;. 
Man, to be a good soldier, 

Must maintain honor's station- 
Then hear, oh ye brothers^ 

And sisters of clay ; 
Avoid the sly death-trap, 

When set in your way. 

But, if ye tvill challenge 

The ruin ye can trace, 
Then step in the rum-trap 

And bear the disgrace. 



75 



TO AN ALBUM. 



Gkm of remembrance, pure and fair, 
Of thee I tune my harp to sing ; 

I love thy modest form and air, 

And in thy path bright flowers I'd fling. 

Soon thou wilt roam untarnished, free, 

Through classic halls and pleasant bowers ; 

And friends will sweetly dream of thee, 
While thou art culling fairy flowers. 

From sparkling gardens, pluck with care 
The blushing buds that smile on thee ; 

Of those that Jlatler most, beware ! 
Sharjj thorns in roses bright may be. 

Seek to recline in Friendship's bower, 
"Where hearts of guile can never beat ; 

There's in her voice a magic power. 
And in her touch a genial heat. 

Should Love on downy wing come near. 
With whispers pure, and tones divine, 

Oh ! fly not from a theme so dear. 

But round thy brow his garlands twimj. 

And when from every honeyed flower 
Thou hast made up thy jewels rare, 

O linger not in foreign bower. 
But speed thee home with golden fare. ^ 



76 



THE "EVIL SPIRIT" IN DISGUISE. 



He comes in varied dress : 
And first — though not the vilest of the train, 
Comes '■'■ whiskey punch," the harbinger of pain ; 
Its pretence is to please, its aim to kill ! 
Alas ! it proves too oft a fatal pIlL 

The next, perhaps, that comes in merry turn, 
Is " Tom and Jerry" in some shining urn ; 
Of eggs and sugar it is made, and wine 
Or old " West-India,^' labelled superfine : 

Delicious in its flavor — but heicare .' 

An adder lurks, of deadliest poison, there ; 

The fascination of this pleasant drink 

Has lured full many a youth o'er ruin's brink. 

And here's mintjulip — come, my friends, walk up, 

Fear not, there is no harm within the cup, — 

^lany have tasted of its joys for years, 

And felt no need, I think, for shedding tears. 

'Tis false ! for in its vapor rising high. 

Dark, haggard, dancing fiends you may espy. 

There's " soda punch," a fashionable mead 
Of choicest flavor — dainty lips to feed ; 
Touch not its foam — 'tis foe to Adam's race, 
A viper's coiled beneath its sparkling face. 



77 



In gayest mood next c^mcs tbe clear Chaynpaffne, 
AV'liose fond caress leaves on the brow a stain ; 
The Itarned and yreat swim in its amber stream, 
Till mortal life seems but a shadowy dream. 
Spurn the first ofPring of this polished foe ; 
It leads to disappointment, pain, and woe. 

The " Milk Punch" too, so delicate and fine, 
Made nice and soothing, with the choicest wine ; 
Ladies sometimes its dainty fumes will quaff : 
It hath the power to wake the merry laugh. 
But ah ! who touches this pale demon in disguise, 
May reap reward, e'er long, in bitter sighs. 

Then, Old Madeira, Port, and Sherry Brown, 
Each with a treacherous smile flung o'er a frown. 
Who court these pink-eyed sisters of despair^ 
May wither in the shade of grief and care. 

And there are cordials beautiful in name, 
Arch-demons, made to kindle passion's flame ; 
Sweet and deUcious to the eager lip ; 
But mischief lurks in every dainty sip. 

Then, London porter, New-York heer, and ale, 
AVithout which every noble ship can sail ; 
But Ikicchus, trembling sometimes with alarm. 
Calls up these aids to prop his stricken arm. 

There's " Cogniac" and " Holland's" I must name, 
And " Hard Old Cider," of a lesser flame ; 
Tliese last, not least, nor all the burning train, 
^lust close my rhyme, and spare you further pain. 



78 



ON VISITING THE GRAVE OF A FRIEND. 



Oil, if there is untouclied one string, 
Attuned to sorrow, in the heart — 
If tliere is any thing to wake regret, 
To bid the soul's lone harp pour forth its tones 
Of grief : — if there is aught on earth 
To claim from human eye a tear — to call 
Forth man's rellectlve powers, and stir him up 
To thoughts of God and of eternity — 
It is the grave. 

I stood alone , 
With throbbing heart, and eye bedimm'd with tears. 
Gazing upon the narrow mound, beneath 
Whose broken turf the lost and lovely lay. 
The " poisoned barb of the grim archer Death," 
With aim unerring did its work. — She fell, 
A floAver of early, but of fullest bloom, 
Too bright and fair to thrive in thorny field. 
And now that cheek which wore the crimson hue ; 
That fair and classic brow of light ; — those eyes 
That asked no aid of words to tell the heart's 
Affections — and that graceful form — alas ; 
Are pale and cold and still, in narrow grave. 
****** 

I stood and called, as if to wake the dead : 
But that familiar voice was hushed and gone. 
I gazed with steady eye, as if to pierce 
The leaden clods, — but no response came up. 



79 



I listened — and methought I heard below, 
The noise of revelling worms, upon that form, 
Whose footstcj)S traced, but yesterday, the fields 
And llowing lawns : — and here I felt 
My heart-strings tighten — ready to be riv'n. 
Upon a grey stone near, I sat me down, 
And thus a plaintive lay I wove : 

She sleeps — and friends must wait in vain : 
No eye will mark her coming more ; 

That lovely form among the slain 
Reposes on a clayey floor. 

A moment since, in her bright eye 
A soul of radiant beauty shone ; 

But never more she'll linger nigh 

To cheer lov'd hearts when sad and louc. 

'Twas hers to shed the tender tear 

Of sympathy for others' grief ; 
The sorrow'd bosom she could cheer, 

And proffer to the sick, relief. 

That casket, mingling with the dust, 
Contained a gem of worth untold ; 

Enclosed a soul — now with the Just — 
Whore it may all its joy unfold. 

Mcthinks her voice floats on the air, 

Whisp'ring, weep not dear friends for me ; 

Throw off thy grief and blighting care : 
/ live ! sl'dl live .' from sorrow free. 



80 



CRUELTY TO DUMB ANIMALS. 



There is a class in everj* community -whose supreme 
delight is to inflict pain upon beast, bird and insect, 
whenever opportunity is seen. A majority of hoys 
are ever on the alert with stone in hand, to pelt every 
defenceless animal within their reach. Parents should 
endeavor to check in the bud, any such cruel propensities 
in "their children. " Just as the twig is bent the tree's 
inclined." The twig, left to itself, may become a branch 
of stubborn growth ; hence the importance of bending i t 
when in a state of youthful elasticity. If the guides of 
youth desire those entrusted to their care to possess true 
feelings of humanity, and wish them to breathe out an 
atmosphere of benevolence throughout society, let them 
point to the character of the great pattern of benevo- 
lence. Let youth be taught to love the beautiful in nature ; 
to cherish feelings of kindness towards all creatures. A 
propensity to torture even the vilest thing of earth, should 
not receive the slightest countenance. The Maker of all 
things is himself the deep, rich, sole fountain of universal 
benevolence ; and man may drink freely, without price, 
of its clear, delicious and invigorating waters. He who 
disdains to accept the proffered sweets of this fountain 
of inestimable goodness, may thus be found : 



-See him with tyrant whip in hand. 



Lashing the willing horse, while every nerve 

Is on the utmost stretch, his pond'rous load 

To draw. When least offence is meant, deepest 



81 



He feels the smarting lash — trembles and groani— 

And knows not why this cruel chastisement : 

Again about his ears the vHe whip burns. 

With merciless ferocity, the Jiend 

(A better name for master) sweeps the lash, 

Until the noble steed falls on the earth 

In agony and fear. 

Mark well this dolt — 



In youth he tortured beast and bird, and mock'd 
When kind reproof was given. 

See yonder ox, 



Of gentle eye : — could he but speak, what tales 
Of cruelty he'd breathe. Deep in his sides 
The pointed wire, urged by his master's hand, 
Has found its way. Yon steers in bondage yoked 
Have felt full deep the cruel master's thrust, — 
And o'er their brow the season'd walnut goad 
Has spent its fury on the willing beast. 
Almost in frantic mood the tyrant roars, 
Nor deigns, e'en for his own kind ox to feel 
One spark of sympathy ! — No, no — with heart 
Untuned to feeling and with stupid eyes, 
He can behold, unmov'd, the gentle beast 
Writhe in his agony. — This, too, was he 
Who lov'd in youth to torture beast and bird. 
Anon we see him with the lash in hand 
Drawing from human form, from timid slave, 
The crimson gore, e'en while the galling chaini 
Clank round the wretch who pleads in vain 
For mercy. O, methinks I hear the sound 

8 



82 



Of tyrant whip re-echoing through the glades 
And glens. — Methinks I see, snake-like, the whip 
Coil close about that dark-skin boy, who writhes 
And groans, while earth drinks in his blood profuse. 
No choz'd of sympathy can vibrate here : 
The fiendish master has no heart, 
Or if he has, 'tis stone. He too — mark well — 
He was that reckless boy who sought the woods. 
Not for the beauteous flowers, nor to behold 
Fair Nature's works, but to deprive the bird 
Of its young brood ; — to stop the linnet's breath ; 
To chase the timid hare. Without the badge 
Of death, he could not trace the glowing fields. 
His glory was to torture beast and bird, 
And every living thing. 

Ye guides of youth, 
Judge if this picture's of too dark a shade. 

O, while the twig is young and green, 
See that it's bent in careful mood ; 

So that in age it shall be seen, 
A stately tree, all fair and good. 



88 



SUIVOIER SCENES. 

WRITTEN BENEATH THE SHADE OF A FAVORITE OLt) 
ELM. 



Beneath this " ancient elm's 
Fantastic shade," upon the velvet grass, 
Where all is loveliness, I'll sit me down, 
And drink in rapture from the scenes around. 
Here Nature's music plays upon the ear, — 
No clashing sounds from horns, poured out by those 
Untaught iofeel, and far too dull to sigh — 
Or busy hum of city's din, distract 
My thoughts, — alone I muse in peace. The trees, 
All lovely, lift in air their branches high, 
And wide o'er fertile pastures' face extend 
Their curved elastic boughs — while zephyrs mild 
And sweet float lightly by, and gently fan 
The gay green leaves. Enchanting birds from bough 
To bough flit joyously. Earth's deep green hiUs 
And dales, are all o'ersprcad with radiant flowers 
Of various tints, exhaling sweet perfume — 
And blushing lovely, while bright sunbeams play 
From out the pearly clouds, and dance 
Upon their dewy leaves. The sighing breeze 
Of summer's morn glides smooth along, and stirs 
The fields of ripening grain, where insects sport, 
And hum their notes of praise. 

Now lightly skips the lamb 
From crag to crag, in merry glee along 



84 



The running crystal brook ; where near him site 

On hilly side, the shepherd — breathing soft 

Upon his silvery pipe, a favorite air. 

And thus, vrhile Sol's departing golden rays 

Are fading fast, and he is sinking far 

Behind the distant mountains' lofty peaks. 

The shepherd calls, with magic flute, his flocks — 

And as the evening shades advance, they wind 

With him their way o'er flowery pasture's tract 

To distant cottage yard, in safety kept, 

From fiends that prowl by night. 

****** 

Oh, who upon the silken grass could stand. 
And gaze around upon the sparkling fields, 
Rich waving trees, and silvery brook, and all 
The glowing charms of smiling nature's face, 
And not indeed feel grateful to that Being 
Who, for man's pleasure, thus in beauty, life,. 
And love, the earth arrayed ? 



THE DYING BOY AFAR FROM HOME- 



Yes — it is so — I here must fall, 

Where it has been my fate to roam ; 

Oh, that my friends would hear my call, 
And Heaven would lend them wings to come. 



85 

Could I my mother dear behold, 
While on this fevered couch I lay ; 

How sweet to me she would unfold 
Her feelings, and how fervent pray. 

She's come ; — I see her watchful eye, 
I hear her mellow, soothing voice: 

Dear mother, do not, do not sigh, 
We've met once more — let us rejoice. 

Ha — 'tis a phantom— She's not here — 
Where am I ? — far, oh, far from home ! 

Around me all is dark and drear — 
No, no — my mother Jias not come- 

My brothers — sisters — where are they ? 

Again I think they're standing here ; 
Speak to me, friends — do not deUiy ; — 

My eyes are glazed — speak ! let me hear : 

Tis false ! my fever'd brain ! I dream ! 

They're gone ! my lips are parched and dry 
And from my bursting heart, a stream 

Is flowing, and I soon must die. 

My blood is trickling coldly now, 

And soon my pulse will cease to tell ; 

Death's seal is on my pallid brow, 
I faint — dear friends, farewell ! farewell ! 



8* 



86 



SOUND THE ALARM TRUMPETS. 



Awake I artmse I 
Put on your armor, friends of man ! — come forth ! 
The tyrant, levelled once, revives again ; 
Behold him proudly waving in the air 
His blood-stained banners ; hear his demon yell — 
With brandished sword he dares you to the field. 

As a huge serpent, when the traveller's lance 

His vitals deep has pierced, darts to his den 

The wound to heal — revenge marked in his eye — 

So this insidious foe has stricken been, 

Aye, keenly too ; and though reluctant, mad in foam, 

With dark contracted brow, and lightning eye — 

Teeth in revenge firm set, and on his broad 

Unholy lips, low fiendish murmurs — down 

To his abode of blackness, breathing fire 

And shaking his satanic locks, he flew. 

Hard after him, with healiiig oil, 

In mighty train, followed the foes of God. 

They urge the monster to receive their aid — 

With eye assenting he looks up. They pour 

Into each burning wound the soothing oil — 

He gathers strength, and hastes again to wield 

The threatening, murderous steel. 

Now he has come, 
With energy redoubled, to assault 
Your peaceful homes, and spread dismay and death 
Throughout the happy bowers of calm repose. 



87 



Ye men of power — shall he on fiery car 
Advance ? Arise and meet the haughty fiiend. 
He comes to mingle gall with fountains pure — 
To foul the very air we breathe — to wield 
His iron sceptre over youth and age — 
To rob us of those sacred rights 
For which our fathers bled. 

He comes to cheat 
The poor man of his daily bread — to I'ob 
The trembling woman of her only child — 
To strip the orphan of his raiment — and decoy 
The wife, the child, the husband from their homes 
Of love. He comes to level with the brute, 
The " noblest work of God'! — aye, e'en the man 
Of learning, e'en the scholar in his pride. 
The virtuous, with the rude unlettered clown, 
Yield oft to his seductive gaze. 

And oh ! 
He comes to sport upon the graves of those 
Who long since fell, alas ! beneath the tyrant's 
Treacherous embrace ! 

He comes with lordly stride, to laugh 
When bosoms bleed, when tears of anguish flow. 
Virtue and law he scorns, — and with his high 
Uplifted arm, he bids the powers of earth 
Come forth, — and almost dares, from his high throne, 
The mighty God come down, such matchless pride 
To curb ! 

This blustering demon's name is hark! — 

Methinks ons deep and awful peal I hear, 



88 



As coming from earth's thousand sable tombs 
And from the great sea's dreary bed, millions 
Of voices, all in one grand unison, 
Exclaiming, as if awful thunder, pour'd 
Sublime from heaven's artiU'ry, lent its aid, 
Intemp'rance ! Intemp'' ranee I ! Intemp'rance ! ! .' 

Fill'd 
With the deadly venom of a serpent, 
By a train of fawning agents followed, 
Lo ! the haughty prince advances ! 
Shall he — O, ye fathers, who your sacred 
Word have pledged to come against the mighty, — 
Shall this fell destroyer march triumphant, 
With black banners to the breeze unfurled — say. 
Shall he march with scorn upon his brow. 
Untouched ? and Virtue's ranks retire amazed f 
Up, men of power, in solid phalanx up ! 
Take for the watch-word. Victory ! — and with firm 
And steady step the spoiler to lay low 
Resolved, advance — pour out )'our mental fire 
Upon the tyrant's head, disperse his ranks. 
One effort more, united, and you've slain 
The hydra monster, and the field is yours. 



89 



TO A FALSE FRIEND. 

Leave me, since thou hast riv'n love's chain, 

False one, of charms so bright ; 
Go mingle with earth's giddy train — 

For e'er I'll haunt thy sight. 

Perchance thou'lt roam where gems of gold 

Bedazzle fashion's bower ; 
E'en there shall memory unfold 

A tale of sad'ning power. 

The " irksome day " will o'er thee fling 

Clouds of a sombre hue ; 
And thou, as false as fkir, shall sin^, 

" I've wrong'd the heart 'twas true.'" 

Oft may thy harp shed music free, 

Sweet as when first we met ; 
But each soft tone shall stir in thee, 

Thoughts only of regret. 



FOR AN ALBUM. 

TO F. N. S. 



Ox a bright sunny morii, I hastened away 
To the fields and the evergreen bowers ; 

And I saw in my wand'rings, ('twas fair July's day, > 
A garden of exquisite flowersj 



90 



'Mong the gems of this garden a rose-bud appearo, 
With the morn's pearly dew on its face ; 

As it bhished I admir'd, and I felt myself cheer'd, 
While beholding its features of grace. 

By and by it expanded, delightful to view, 

Scattering incense profuse on the air ; 
And I sipped from its beautiful chalice the dew, 

Then retired while the scene was yet fair. 

Soon again I retraced my steps to the green bower. 

Into which I had gazed with delight ; 
But alas ! I perceived that the gay blooming flower 

Which I lov'd, was now fading from sight. 

It was dying, — ah, yes — the once bright dewy thing, 
Fell in fragments to earth, ere 'twas noon ; 

It had felt the rude touch of the " Terrible Bang !" 
And I sighed that it withered so soon ! 

I turned me around, and in sadness I said, 
What an emblem of man is this flower, — 

First budding, then blooming, next bowing the head< 
Sure, his dream of life is but an hour ! 

Like the rose, my dear friend, in its freshness thou art, 

Every feature is beaming with life ; 
I can see by these bright eyes that joy's in thy heart. 

While with beauty and health thou art rife. 

Need I say that the " Spoiler " must come, happy youth, 
Who will claim for himself all those charms ? 

In thy lone moments then, sometimes dwell on this truth, 
That thy heart may not fail at alarms. 



9i 



When the faltering pulse slowly beats the sad tale, 
That thy hour of departure draws nigh, — 

May thy bright spirit leave then its tenement frail, 
And be wafted to mansions on high. 



THE RETURNED RING. 



Take back the ring I wore for thee ; 

The shining gem is worthless now ; 
It hath no magic charm for me — 

'Twill mind thee of thy truthless vow. 

Oh! take it back — 'twas gift of thine 
When thou wcrt true, and life was fair ; 

No longer will I call it mine — 

False vows are mirrored in its glare. 

Yet I'll not murmur at my fate. 

Nor crave a passing thought of thee ; 

No ! calmly to the end I'll wait, 
To learn a false one's destiny. 

Then take the ring I wore for thee. 

It lends no inspiration now ; 
Nought in the cherished boon I see, 

But emblems of a broken vow. 



92 

BIRTH DAY REFLECTIONS. 

February 17, 1844. 



It is no dream — 'tis solemn truth— 

Another year expires to-day. ; 
Yet I am left to dream of youth, 

And feel I've sought not Wisdom's way. 

Swift as a meteor skims the air, 
The years are fading in the past ; 

Each moment whispers, man, beware ! 
The next brief hour may be thy last ! 

Oh, where are those we loved in youth — 
Who joyed with us 'mid summer bowers ? 

Sad mem'ry now unfolds the truth, 
Alas ! they are as withered flowers. 

Down to the tomb my thoughts are led; 

Where o'er those forms wild flow'rets wave : 
Soon must he mingle with the dead, 

Who chants a requiem o'er their grave. 

Resistless Time ! — oh, stay ! — 'tis vain — 
Nor prayers, nor tears will aught avail : 

Thine onward march we view with pain ; 
Thy touch we fear — thy loss bewail. 

But oh, in yonder golden clime. 

There is a home of endless joy ; 
No blight comes there by touch of time, — 

All, all is love without alloy. 



93 



THE SINGING BIRD'S APPEAL TO THE 
SPORTSMAN. 

I HAVE come from the sunny South's life-cheering bowers, 

Where the fig and the orange abound ; 
Where the light balmy zephyrs play o'er the sweet flowers 

And scatter their incense around. 

Once more I've returned to my dear native home, 

Where the lily and violet bloom ; 
Where the tall pines are waving, — here erst did I roam, 

And with song did I dissipate gloom. 

I have come to resume that sweet lay I must love, 
Which I caught in yon green shady wood ; 

Oh, sufTer me, sportsman, to praise Ilim above, 
Who is pleas'd to supply me with food. 

I have come now rude winter is gone, to rejoice 

That the beautiful summer is near ; 
To plead for the warblers of silvery voice, 

That no harm may befall them this year. 

I have come, laughing sportsman with gun and with hound. 

To chant a sweet lay e'en for thee ; 
Oh, say — wilt thou listen to music's soft sound, — 

May I weave thee a song, and go free ? 

The birds of the forest are all on the wing, — 

They are dreading thy merciless fire ; 
J plead for compassion — oh, spare us this spring, 

And we'll swell our notes higher and higher. 

9 



94: 



I'm but one of the many that joyfully sing 
'Mid the bright blossom'd woods of this land ; 

Unto thee a light off'ring of music I bring ; 
Oh, let me not full by thy hand ! 

List— be not impatient, bold hunter — forbear — 
Nor spring the dark engine of death ; 

My little ones, now in the forest, oh, spare ! 
I must plead for them whilst I have breath. 

I'm a bird of this region — as plainly you see, 
I've returned with my nwites in good cheer ; 

We Grave but one boon, thoughtless gunner, of thee. 
Let us live to he joyful this year! 



TO A BEAUTIFUL ROSE, PRESENTED BY A 
YOUNG FRIEND. 



Fair image of beauty — sweet source of delight, 
How lovely thy features unfold to the sight ; 
With rapture I'll gaze on thy beautiful hue, 
And kiss from thy gay-tinted leaves- the soft dew. 

I'll drink the pure odor that mingles with air, 
As from thy sweet chalice it comes forth so rare ; 
And when I have done with thee, exquisite flower, 
I'll sing of the kind friend who plucked thee this hour 



95 



He cuird thee, bright gem, from yon sweet perfum'ti 

bower, 
And bade me acknowledge thy charms and thy power — 
An «mblem, he said, of his friendship for me. 
In each of thy quivering leaves I could see. 

Enough, — I believe, — and I very well know 
Thou'rt lovely,— and all do confess it is so, — 
But while on thy charms I am gazing, I'm sad — 
For soon thou in death's sable robes must be clad. 

Then — then in thy mouldering form I shall see 
An emblem of what I myself soon must be ; 
jMy path has been chequered and sorrow my lot; 
Ah ! soon I shall sleep, and like thee, be forgot. 

O Thou I at whose bidding the herb and the flower 
Spring into existence, to linger an hour — 
Accept for my friend, and for me the warm prayer, 
Tliat we may in Heaven our friendship declare. 



SUMMER. 



There's a charm in the name — 'tis a theme ever dear 
It can reach the heart's coldness and move it to love ; 
Tis a voice fraught with harmony, sweet to the ear, 
.As the music of seraphs sent down from above. 



96 



It recalls to fond memory bright youth's sunny liours 
When Joy twined her rose perfumed wreaths round tht- 

brow, 
Of the paths where in childhood I sought the sweet flowers, 
And cherished the gems as I do even now. 

There are scenes well remembered, too vividly bright 
To be spoil'd by the canker of manhood's deep care ; 
And the beautiful Summer I hail with delight, 
As I did when a child of gay, innocent air. 
I think of the groves and the flower spangled green, 
Where oft with my brothers and sisters I'd stray ; 
Where a mother's bright eyes, fondly watching have seen 
Her lov'd ones together,, in joy often play. 

And a fav'rite old oak, too, e'en now I can see. 
Which for ages hath laughed at the storm's fearful roar 
How rich was the pleasure, with hearts light and free, 
In its shade, as we sported on Nature's green floor. 
And the deep tangled grove, with its blossoms and birdS;^ 
Its fresh velvet moss, and its ivy-vines too ; 
Its musical rills, and the free roaming herds : 
This, this was the play-ground my infancy knew, 

Oh, Summer .' how joyous, how dear is the name ; 
I have said It can waken the spirit to love : 
The charms of bright summer are ever the same. 
(If the heart be not callous,) wherever we rove. 
The soft swelling zephyrs, the fields rife with flowers, 
The streamlets that sparkle adown the hill side ; 
The songs of gay birds in the sweet-scented bowers — 
Oh ! here is enjoyment no pen may deride. 



97 



CHANGES. 



On all things earthly, change is marked ; 

The seasons come and vanit:h, while we stand 
With sad lament, forgetting that we too, 
Frail things of time arc passing fast away ! 
The bud we saw of yester eve, bedew'd 
With genial drops from summer skies — to-day 
Has spread its folded leaves, and on the ground 
They're scattered — blighted — dead. 

The man of wealth 
Whose haughty stride told of a soul within, 
Narrow and hard, who paced but yesterday 
His carpet walks, and flowery meads, to-day, 
With eyes deep buried in his hands, falls low 
Beneath the humbling pressure of that arm 
Which abject poverty is wont to bear 
Hard down upon the sons of earth. 

All things are changing — not a tree, or flower 
Or blade of grass, or cloud that floats above. 
But wears each day, a difierent form or hue. 
The solid rocks that mock the howling storm. 
And look eternal, with the hills — they too, 
Though slow the process, change ; and time will oooie, 
When they must into countless atoms fall. 
Sun, moon and stars, in their unceasing round, 
In color, heat or cold, or brightness change. 

*9 



98 



But "what, throughout earth's wide domain, or high 

In yonder blue bespangled arch above, 

Is changeable as man ? Ah, here we pause ; 

Pause ere we sweep for him the gloomy lyre. 

Capricious man ! Moved round by every breath 

That fortune or opinion blows. To-day, 

With gracious smile, my neighbor takes my hand, 

And talks of friendship, love and heaven ; 

And one might think him kind and true of heart, 

Hating the thou(/hl of fickleness of soul ; 

But meet him on the morrow, and observe 

How dark a change hath come — he is your foe I 

That brow of light. 

Those smiles so bright. 

That generous hand. 

And voice so bland ; 

That neighbor kind, 

Of tuneful mind ; 

Yonr f7:i€Md s& hue^ 

Who thought of you 
So kindly on the yesterday, 
Now greets you like a thing of clay — 
Instead of bidding you good morn, 
He passes with a look of scorn f 

Friendship ! it is a pleasant sound, but oh ! 
How like a bubble is the cherished name. 
Change cometh over friends as on bright flowers — ■ 
Earth has no stable purpose. Heaven alone 
Ig true, and Jirm, and changeless. 



99 



ALVAH'S LAMENT. 



The Catholic parents of Zala, destroy the Protestant 
Alvah's hopes for their daughter, and in a favorite grove, 
he thus echos his lament: 

On joyous hours, 
Why must ye pass away, 

And leave uncheer'd 
This heart once light and gay. 

My bosom's fire — 
Ah ! must it idly burn, 

And I in vain 
Sigh o'er affection's urn ? 

Those golden walks, 
With Zala by my side. 

Her lov'd in vain, 
The young, affianc'd bride : 

Those blissful steps 
I shall no more retrace, 

And in yon bower 
Ne'er meet her genial face. 

Deep gloom o'ershadows my brow, 
And sadness stings my breast; 
My Zala comes not near, 
To give my bosom rest; 

Oh I peerless one, 
Life's now a gloomy sea, 

Existence drear, 
Reft of a star like thee. 



100 



SONG OF THE DECEIVED MAIDEN. 



Fate weaves a gloomy veil that I must wear; 

Oh ! drear suspense ! 

Why comes he not ? 
He knows I lonely wait his smiles to share. 

Is this a mystic dream — love I in vain ? 

Can he be false ? 

Oh ! he will come, 
Will come and dissipate my bosom's pain. 

Alas I hope's stellar ray is fading fast, — 

'Tis hard to brook 

Neglect so keen — 
His vow hangs o'er me cold as wintry blast. 

He loves me not — gone is his heart astray, 

He will not come 

To claim his own, 
And yet in secret hours for him I pray. 

He mocks my grief, and I am left to die ; 

Phantoms are round, 

Hope's light is gone, 
Despair is flaunting near with haggard eye. 

Oh ! anguish, cease to sting my throbbing brow '. 

Oh, heart, arouse ! 

Life hath a boon, 
'Tis sweet to pardon, and I bless him now. 



101 



THOUGHTS ON LEAVING HOME. 



O, I've dream'd — yes again and again have I dream 'd, 
Of the joys that are past — of the smiles that once beamM 
From the features of those who are silent and cold ; 
And I ask, is it weakness such tales to unfold ? 

" Recollections of tenderness" — moments of bliss; 
Oh, 'tis pain thus to muse — yet I cannot dismiss 
From my mind the sad thoughts, for a livlier theme — 
There's a mixture of pleasure with pain in the dream. 

But to dwell on the past is unwise, — it is vain ! 
When the present is racking my bosom with pain ; — 
Let me see if the picture I'm gazing on now, 
Will impart aught of light to illumine this brow. 

Ah, alas ! its broad dashes are heavy and deep, 
Yet,methinks I discern thro' the gloom, those who weep : 
They axe friends, and they know that a parting is near — 
That ihe " farewell" again is to fall on the ear. 

I'll approach the drear spot where those light forms re- 
cline, 
And respond to the heart which is throbbing with mine ,- 
I will breathe a fond prayer while I'm near those I love ; 
It shall be, that we meet in that bright land above. 

All around me is beautiful — yet all is dark — 
I again must launch forth on life's ocean my bark ; 
But she'll ride as she has done, — aye, safely she'll ride, 
Tht>ugh the pitiless storm in its wrath, lash her side. 



102 

But the pictuie ! 'tis wearing an aspect more bright, 
On its once dreary features there beams a sweet ligbt : 
I behold on its face nought of gloom — it is fair — 
Who can tell me what artist so kind has been there V 

Ah ! 'tis He ! — unto whom if we look as our guide, 
Through the dark storms of life we'll unflinchingly ride : 
Let us cease then our murmurings, cease to repine. 
For the Hand which has marked out our course, is Dlviue. 



THE CHARMS OF WINTER. 



At Nature's changeless laws I murmur not. 
Nor would I cast upon her page a blot ; 
But, pleasure from her ice and snow-clad mien 
My heart ne'er found, nor have my ejes e'er seen. 
Yet, winter brings us charms, (so poets say,) 
These charms I'll sing, in this, my chosen way : 
Take heed who hear, and rightly judge my song, 
Whatever was, or is, I do not chai-ge as wrong. 

Come boys, lash on your skates and gaily glide 
Adown the hill and o'er the frozen tide ; 
Mind how ye coast along the crusted bay, 
Else, heels in air, upon your backs you'll lay — 
Ah, ha ! — why heedless onward steer'd you so? 
Methinks your pates caught then a dreadful blow. 
Now lads, take care — there's no great prize to win, 



103 

Don't slide too near, there ! tliore ! you arc — broke in ! 

Oh, is'nt lovely, on a wintry day 

To scramble from a cool bath in the bay ! 

Out, swains and maidens, on your sleigh-ride gay. 
Tis winter now, sweeter than budding May ! 
See the bright trees, festoon'd all lily white. 
So rife with warbling birds ! oh, joyous sight ! 
The rills and streams, choked by the ice and snow, 
Chime smothered music, as swift on ye go. 
Old Boreas breathes fi-om out the darken'd sky — 
Fold close your mantles as he rushes by. 
Your muffs and furs snug to your faces hold, 
Else by the morrow you'll have taken cold. 
Take care, ye gallant ones, nor drive so swift, 
Lest ye o'erturn, and stifle in the drift I 

'Tis midnight past, the sleigh bells tell the tale, 
Home speeds the group, half perished in the gale. 

# * * * * 

Open thy lattice maiden, list the lay — 
Some lover through the deep snow ploughs his way. 
And sings, " My boat is by the castle near" — 
" O come to me" it is so bright and clear, 
Bless with those eyes, ere far from thee T go ; 
In meriy come, V\n freezing down below. 
Snow-sloniis and tnusic, poch'i/ and ice ! 
As true tltin blend as virtue's flowers with vice. 

Ah, magic ]Viiiier with thy blcachcn locks, 
Thy fields look gay, but not with shepherds' flock? ; 
The woods are decked with shining, dazzling flowers. 
Who would not drink the halm of icc-loiirul bowers V 



104 

" Oh, I love winter" said a maiden fair 
Of radiant eyes and braided raven luiir ; 
" Dances so plenty are, and sleigh-rides too, 
I do love winter best, indeed I do !" 
For one full minute silence reigned about, 
I took my hat, and thought of going out. 
She ne'er had mus'd upon the real woe 
That winter brings to creatures here below. 

'Tis bitter night — the sailor feels the blast, 
As up he climbs to reef the topsails fast. 
Gaze out, and note the ocean's sloimy wail, 
A ship all ice-locked snuffs the freezing gale. 
With shattered mast and canvass torn away, 
Careering low, she's driven througli the spray. 
And on the sharp rocks into atoms hurl'd — 
Her crew all lost ! wake in another world . 

While dancers gay are in the festive hall, 

And hear the outward din of hail and squall. 

They little think of seamen perishing. 

Whose piercing cries 'mid tempest bowlings ring. 

Ah, winter is a haggard, heartless sire. 

For him, ne'er will / string my humble lyre. 

'Tis winter now, and many are the poor. 
Who feel the pangs of hunger, though on shore; 
Many there are who quaff the bitter bowl. 
Which "jointer fills, and stings the inmost soul. 
Oh, there are groups of honest, virtuous poor, 
Who oft through storms seek aid from door to door ; 
Numbers that lie on thin and shivering beds, 
With no kind hand to soothe their aching heads. 



105 

Ah, Winter ! with old visage grim, away ! 

For tJiee, I cannot weave a single lay. 

AVTien the keen North sends its benumbing breath, 

And seals the eyes of penury's child in death — 

And dooms the manner upon the sea, 

To chill and gasp along the rock-bound lea — 

Oh, wake the sympathetic chord within. 

The thoughtless^ selfish heart no heaven can win. 

Amid the bowers of mirth, 'twere well to think 
Of those who fearful hang o'er danger's brink ; 
Of those that fortune leaves far, far behind, 
Trembling and hungering in the wintry wind. 
No, no — not I will ever tune my lyre. 
In praise of stormy Winter, heartless sire ! 
Let all who choose, of charming Winter dream, 
My humble lyre wakes not to icy theme. 



ODE 

FOR -V SUNDAY SCHOOL RURAL CELEBRATION. 

WiTHiK this leafy bower, so cool. 

Away from noise and care. 
We come, friends of the Sunday School, 

To breathe the balmy air. 
We come with harps attuned to sing. 

Where summer birds are gay ; 
And 'neath this rui'al shade wc bring 

A joyful feast to-day. 

10 



106 

The earth all o'er is green and bright — 

Around us blooming flowers ; 
The festoon'd trees are waving light^ 

And happy hearts are ours. 
A crystal spring is by our side, 

With waters gushing free ; 
In that clear fount we may confide, 

No drink more Y>nre can be. 

Our snowy tents are pitched around, — 

The social board is laid ; 
And gladsome feet hie o'er the ground. 

Within this pleasant glade. 
Oh, what with joy like this can vie ? 

'Tis pleasure free from stain ; 
The youth, and all that linger by, 

Join in a tuneful strain. 

Bland voices float ujion the breeze. 

Mingling with music's sighs, 
And sweetly echo through the trees, 

As up to heaven they rise. 
Angels, methinks, are smiling now. 

Upon this festive hour ; 
Joy unalloyed is on each brow 

Within this sylvan bower. 

Oh, may not this a foretaste be 

Of brighter scenes above, 
Where spreads the smooth unruffled sea 

Of glory and of love ; 
A land of dewy lawns and flowers, 

And ever-blooming youth. 
And music sweet, and fragrant bowers, 

For all that love the truth. 



107 



TO A MINIATURE OF THE DEPARTED. 



Jewel more dear than pearls and gold, 
Bright impress of the lov'd and lost ; 

Thee to my bosom will I fold 

"While on life changeful sea I'm tost. 

Dear image of a soul refined, 

There's inspiration in thine eyes ; 

And on those lips seem whispers kind, 
Like soothing music from the skies. 

I gaze upon thy features fair 

Till fancy paints a breathing glow ; 

Thy smile then dissipates my care, 
And frees my breast from every woe. 

Thy voice seems raised in seraph song 
And sweetly echoes in mine ear ; 

Oh, heart, deem not my fancy wrong, 
Still would I dream that voice I hear. 



108 



THE IMPULSIVE MAIDEN. 

One of the bright and careless daughters of earth, in 
a moment of mental hallucination, suffered her beautiful 
long black hair to be cut off short. The occasion at 
once suggested the following lines. 

I SAW a girl of glowing cheek 

And flowing ebon hair, 
Dancing along but yesterday 

As though she knew no care. 
She ope'd a pair of radiant eyes 

As Egypt's maiden black, 
With laughing lips that could invite 

And then repel attack. 

I heard her voice upon the breeze 

As others oft have heard, 
And o'er the earth with merry song 

She flitted like a bird. 
But that which bade my eyes admire, 

(I never shall forget,) 
Was her long, glossy, beauteous hair, 

Black shining as a jet. 

Ah, now my heart must sadly moan 

And tell its gloomy tale : 
Tell what to-day near struck me dumb. 

And made me ashy pale. 
'Twas this — the youth of wildered brain, 

Of summers, sweet sixteen. 
Hied reckless to a barber's room 

And in his chair did lean. 

" Now, as though all her senses fled 
And phantoms held her charmed, 



109 

She urged the sable shearer by, 

To " cut, — not be alarmed." 
lie feigned, or it may be he felt 

A sympathy for her, 
And asked the maiden fair, to pause : 

Siie bade him not demur. 

Says he, " Then, lady, I'll obey ; 

Old shears, now do your duty ; — 
There ! laughing Miss, your hair is gone. 

And with it, half your beauty!" 
Oh ! had I stood within the reach 

Of the bewildered fair, 
I'd smote the hand which held the shears, 

And overturned her chair. 

Methinks I see in yonder sky, 

Two beings looking down, 
And hear their deep and blending sighs, 

And see their keener frown : — 
Sighs for the giddy orphan child, 

Lost parents oft caressed ; 
And frown? for him who clipped her hair, 

At the school girl's refjuest. 

Laugh, laugh Zimena, if you will. 

At thy imprudence rare, 
But oft in secret thou wilt sigh 

And iceep for thy lost hair. 
Long years must come and pass away 

Before those tresses growing. 
Can bid bright eyes gaze and admire, 

That they are full and flowing. 
*10 



110 



ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF MISS E. F. P. 



This amiable youuf!; lady — a member of our " choir," 
and one of my pnplls in music — left her home, in Ports- 
mouth, to visit distant frienils for a few weeks. Illness 
suddenly came upon her, and she soon expired. 

" Silent as thou art. 
Lost one ! thou livest still." 

Struck by the blast, in all her charms 
The hopeful maiden bowed and died ; 

And now, within his icy arms. 

Death claims her for his youthful bride. 

With health and beauty on her brow. 

And hope and joy in every breath. 
She did not dream that she should bow 

So early to relentless death. 

A thought so blighting, dark, and drear. 
To youth can ne'er be welcome guest ; — 

She knew not the corroding fear 

That soon in deep, cold grave she'd rest. 

And when she bade a last farewell 

To friends and schoolmates kind and dear, 

They little thought her funeral knell 
Would sudden ring upon the ear. 

Alas ! she never can return, 

To mingle with the joyous throng ; 
Her young, full heart has ceased to yearn 

For pleasures which to earth belong. 



Ill 

No more, below, she'll strike the lyre, 
While hearts delighted hover near ; 

Nor join in praises with the choir 
That long will hold her mem'ry dear. 

Wc gaze upon the vacant seat. 
And list in vain her voice to hear ; 

Warm pulses swift and swifter beat, 
While fancy lirings the lost one near. 

Oh ! what must be that mothei-'s grief. 
While thinking of her clay-cold child I 

No human aid can give relief — 
How can her heart be reconciled ? 

Life's glowing star of joy is gone — 
The fair lone daughter of her love ; 

And bathed In burning tears, forlorn, 
The mourner hopes for aid above. 

E'en 'mid her grief and blighting care, 
Comes on the breeze a soothing tone, 

Like angels, whispering in the air : 

" Cease, grief-worn mother, cease thy moan. 

How sweet the hope, and cheering, too. 
To think the lost we'll meet again, 

In purer clime, where all is true. 

Whore youth, and joy, and beauty reign. 



112 



THE ESCAPE FROM FIRE. 



'TwAS midnight, past — 
All eyes fast closed in balmy sleep — no step 
Was echoing near, no guardian sentinel. 
Dim stars seemed weeping in the arch above 
While they looked down upon th' unconscious world, 
Still as the grave around. -The festoon'd trees 
Quaff'd the soft dews, but not a moistened leaf 
Moved in the air, so calm the night. But ah ! 
Beneath the roof destruction lurked, kindling 
To spread dismay. 

Near by the hidden fire. 
So bent to free itself in dismal wrath. 
Profoundly sleeping, a young mother lay. 
With fond arms clasped about her infant babe. 
The fearful flames now break in fury forth — 
Scorch and threaten — and their lurid glare 
Portentous falls upon the dreaming ones, 
While yet, unconscious, calmly they dream on. 
Still no human aid aroused ; — the blaze 
Pours on the sash, burns the dry wood, and snaps 
The brittle glass. — Her ear has caught the sound, — 
The dreadful hiss and crackling glass, alarm — 
She wakes, amid the din, feels the hot air, 
Shrieks " fire !" and firmly grasps her nestling child, 
And with it to her bosom pressed, o'erleaps 
The fated stairs, and through the smoky rooms 
Flees from the raging element. It spreads. 
It madly rages. — Now the happy home, 



113 

The cheerful dweUing, blazes wildly forth, 
The red, relentless flames tower to the sky, 
And crash on crash the burning timbers fall. 
The scence is o'er, that once devoted home 
Is changed to desolation. 



AVARICE. 

ITS INFLUENCE ON THE HEART. 

Written while confined by sickness. 



Smitten with illness on lone couch I lay, 

Counting the slow and dreary hours away ; 

Themes worthy of reflecting pen pressed on my mind. 

Thick as the stars, of varied worth and kind. 

I seized on Avarice, the soul's dire foe, 

Xor would I let the haggard monster go. 

Fast to my will, chained I the rebel down, 

So he might feel the pressure of my frown. 

Now, fiend, from deepest glens of Hades sent, ' 
Hoar what hath in my bosom long been pent. 
Thou art the mildew of life's beaming star. 
An idiot giant poised on flaming car ; 
Stretching thy lank, lean arm the globe all o'er, 
Crying, as yearns the grave-yard, give, give more ! 



114 

In vain the stormy sea ingulfs thy bark, 

Thy pirate prow e'en scorns her caverns dark : 

The lurid furnace melts the stubborn steel, 

But at thy gaze hot lava streams congeal : 

The sword hath pierced the steel-clad warrior through. 

Thy scaly self resists the keen lasso : 

The battering mortar shakes the mightiest walls, 

Yet thou canst brave the hissing cannon-balls: 

The heaven-tuned harp moves not thy leaden soul ; 

Angels would fail to fire the Artie pole : 

The eloquence out breathed by Paul of old 

Wert worth to thee not one light grain of gold : 

He who once wore the crown of piercing thorns. 

Felt pangs through thee, black demon thick with horns. 

Though sea drown not, nor wild fire melt thee down. 
Nor sword nor lance pierce thy satanic gown ; 
Though music fails to wake thy miser ear, 
And eloquence draws from thine eye no tear ; 
Though penary, nor orphan's earnest prayer. 
Or widow's tear bestir in thee no care : 
Though virtue pine beneath thy eager thrust, 
Know, there's a God who'll crush thee in the dust. 
Go now, grim demon Avarice, away ! 
Ungrateful theme for further thoughts to-day. 



115 

JERUSHA CARTER, AND HER CHOSEN 
FLOWER. 

Married in Weld, Me. March 2, 1811, Mr. M.vtthi.vs Skeet- 
vp, (gentleman of color,) to Miss Jeuusiia Cakter, (white 
lady,) both of Carthage. 

Jerusha, oh ! Jeruslia Carter, 
Ebon Skeetiip's peerless bride ; 
You've signed the all important charter, 
Thy bark is on life's hopeful tide. 

Say, did thy mamma back the scheme ; 
Or was't thy blushing lover's vow, 
That led thee to such blissful dream ? 
Fly hither, fair one, tell me now. 

Alas ! how many hearts must ache, 
When they have learned the thrilling story : 
Oh ! why, fair damsel, didst thou take 
A theme so dark for future glory ? 

Jerusha reasoned, (I dare think,) 
" Variety's the spice of life ;" 
And straightway to her sable Pink, 
Voiced she would be his loving wife. 

As now cfiulgent morning breaks, 
The bride starts up from love to duty, 
Hastens to make some griddle cakes. 
While in sweet dreams she's left her beauty. 

Oft times had roamed Jcru.sha, fair. 
Through gardens with bright roses dressed ; 
Seeing one day a Poppy rare, 
She cried, I love this flower the best ! 



116 



SLANDERERS. 



I'd leave dull oirh, that know no better lay, 
To hoot their meaii and worthless lives away : 
Did I say owls f too precious are those birds, 
To rank among the groveling slanderer herds. 

I'd leave the vultures to their vicious taste, 
Rioting on innocence with greedy haste : 
Did I say vuhures? oh, wild bird, forgive. 
Better with you than with defamers live. 

Ye old and young hyenas lurking nigh, 
Feast on your prey till ye swell up and die ; 
Growl, yell, and tear the kids and lambs apart. 
It well becomes ye of the fiendish heart. 

And have I named liyenas with the throng ? 
Sure I would do those brutes no studied wrong ; 
They are but wild dogs of the forest shade. 
Thirsting for blood, as nature hath them made. 

But oh ! those prowling fiends in human form, 
Whose breath outvies the hliglit of wintry storm : 
Whose adder tongues their own foul hearts betray. 
Take from my sight such haggard forms away ! 

Come gloomy owls, and bats, and vultures too : 
Hyenas, jackalls, I've no fears of you : 
Come foxes, catamounts and tigers fierce. 
Ye tear the^/?es7(, but ne'er the soul can pierce. 



117 

And shall we fear the flaunting gossip^s eye, 
Or tremble if a slanderer's tongue be nigh ? 
No ! gibbering wretches of the vampire fang. 
Who sink below the vicious canine gang, 
Strive to despoil, nor heed the golden rule. 
And know vou're rated far beneath a mule. 



DIVERSITY OF OPINION AND INDEPEN- 
DENCE OF THOUGHT. 

There are, perhaps, few subjects of a nature re- 
(juiring close investigation, upon which men do not or 
would not form some difference of opinion. This fact is 
no marvel, when men are viewed in their true nature. 
There is among human beings, as much difference of 
sentiment as there is variety of form and complexion. 
It cannot be denied that men differ essentially in ge- 
nius, talent, moral goodness, education and manners. 
Hence, a man may he a man, in the most favorable 
sense of the word, or he may he no man at all. This 
seeming parodox is explained In the fact that some 
Ml from dignity and respect, by allowing themselves 
to lose sight of the position they should occupy in the 
scale of Intellectual, and moral beings. It ought to be 
the aim of every individual, to qualify himself to do his 
oicn tJiinking and draw his own inferences from the 
actions of men and events of life, instead of becoming 
a mere machine, to be used at the pleasure of smiling hy- 
pocrites and fawning sycophants. But seeing there are 
thousands culpably or otherwise incompetent to judge for 

11 



118 



themselves— tlieir superiors take from tliem the perogs- 
tive, and lead them, like thoughtless mules, just as ikn- 
cy and self-interest may dictate. They have often led 
away from the right track those "who were so unfortunate 
or mean as to depend entirely upon the decision of their 
artful leaders. Even in the present age, so rife with 
advantages for general intelligence, dupes may every 
day be seen, standing with wondering eyes and cra- 
ven hearts, ready to move this way or that, just as the 
aro-uments of a popular speaker shall incline them, — 
making little or no eifort to investigate and pass judg- 
ment for themselves upon subjects concerning the wel- 
fare and happiness of man. 

It is a singular fact that some men require a whole life- 
time to decide questions, of which nine school-boys out 
of ten would, after thirty minutes' consideration, give a 
true decision. Some, more than other men, are fond of 
argument and opposition, and often discuss topics In pub- 
lic, which, for reasons best known to themselves, they 
seldom or never touch upon in private life. Yet, not- 
withstanding the various positions which men occupy In 
society — the circumstances and influences of the world, 
which often render an expression of correct thought 
entirely unpopular — and the variety of mind in human 
beino's of both sexes, there are moments In life when bick- 
ering and cavilling flee away, and all minds sec through 
the same true glass, and come at once to one and the 
same conclusion. Let us be visited by a violent and 
protracted shock of an earthquake, and very few civi- 
lized beings would then dissent from the belief that the 
religion of the bible alone is fully adequate to sustain 
us in such hours of dismay. Go traverse the mighty 



119 



<leep — let your ship be gliiling along under full sail — ob- 
serve the wildly-gathering clouds, hear the fierce rushing 
tempest and tlie low muttering thunder, see the blue 
tbrked lightning I All on board are conscious of the peril 
to wliich they arc exposed. A command is given to re- 
duce tiie canvass, — " All hands to shorten sail," is tlie 
trumpet-sound. None disobey, because all perceive alike 
that there is but one way of safety ; there is no equivocat- 
ing about the matter : tlie canvass, which might have been 
the cause of dismay and death, is timely and snugly furled, 
and the noble bark outrides the tempest in safety. 

Let a conflagration break out in a populous city, anil 
who would disagree as to the mode of arresting the 
llames ? Would not every voice cry out, water! water! 
Let it be ascertained that a vessel had arrived at our 
wharves having on board a loathsome and contagious di- 
sease ; — would not the public voice be unanimous in or- 
dering the ship instantly away to the quarantine-ground, 
to be purified ? 

Let there be a defect in the chimney of some magnifi- 
cent edifice, so that the sparks find way through the 
aperture, and set on fire the building, — how many times 
would the house be left endangered from this cause? 
before the owners, or others less concerned, would 
agree that the cause of the trouble should be traced out, 
and the defect repaired without delay ? 

Suppose a powerful dog should become rabid and run 
v.t large, would it not be more wise to despatch the 
beast at once, than to lament the animal's mad course, 
and keep constantly striving to heal the wounds of his 
creating ? 

Oh ! is it not a fact that there is a huge and terrible 
beast, more destructive to the human race and more 



120 



devastating in his remorseless career than even the com- 
bined and terrific power of earthquakes, tornadoes, fires, 
famines, mad dogs, or the blood-thirsty appetite of the de- 
moniac war-spirit ? This merciless destroyer of life and 
property, is a beast of tangihle form ; it needs only a 
unanimity of effort to strangle him at once ; there is 
moral power enough in the field of action to do it now, 
and it is high time a decisive blow be struck. But we 
see influential men standing up, declaring the time to be 
far distant when any other course than an everlasting 
harping of love, to the reckless and hardened devotees 
of mammon, or menials to avarice, would be impolitic. 

This loathsome animal, of huge paws and terrible teeth 
and horns, is going to be left, but half-crippled, till he 
devours more millions of the human race, and blights 
the fairest prospects of earth's bejewelled garden's 
and ambrosial bowers. Though it is clear as the noon- 
day sun, that he is every day destroying the sons and 
daughters of Adam, yet there are hearts too faint to 
plunge the reeking sabre through his vitals, lest his dy- 
ing groans should excite the grosser world's sympathy. — 
Ah ! he is resting, as the frightful anaconda lies, after 
swallowing his prey ; his voracious appetite is but partly 
sated ; 'tis true, he does not devour so much at a meal as 
formerly, but who does not know that the monster, if 
suffered to breathe at all, will at some futui-e time open 
more extensively than ever his unsated and herculean 
jaws, and crush many millions more of the human race 
to agony and death ? 

On ! to the battle-field, 

The foe is still before us ; 
Who now so base to yield, 

And see the rum flajr o'er us ? 



321 



THREE CHEERS AND AWAY ! 

A slijrlit tribute to the first company of California gold 
adventurers, who let't Portsmouth March 13th, 1849. 

■' Ho ! ho for the West !" is the echoing sound 

That awakens and charms every ear ; 
The talisman jioints to the gold-sprinkled gi-ound, 

Where the bright flowers bloom all the j-ear. 

You have caught the wihl echo— brave fellows, farewell ! 

Ye fathers and brothers so dear ; — 
There's anguish in parting, that words need not tell. 

While the heart breathes its tale in a tear. 

But onward ' stout brothers of "old Strawberry Bank," 

There is gold dust and glory afar ; — 
Though, in parting with dear ones, life seems but a l)lank. 

Never lose sight of hope's cheering star. 

There is gold on the mountains, and gold in the streams. 

As pure as the gems of a bride ', 
O, there may ye realize fancy's bright dreams, 

If virtue be cast not aside. 

Onward ! then, brothers, with hearts beating high. 
There's no boon here below like the guineas ; 

Friends vanish when pockets grow scanty and dry, 
And we're spurned by the lordlings and ninnies. 

Once more, a farewell ; — there are bosoms at home 
That will miss your protection and care, 

And while in those far golden regions you roam, 
For your safety they'll oft breathe a prayer.. 
*11 



122 

THE GAY MOURNER. 

Her heart forgot its vow of undying remembrance. 



I SAW her, clad in vesture dark, 

To earth bowed low with grief, — 
She was bereft of one held dear, — 

Alas ! his days were brief. 
From her dark eyes, the sorrowing tears 

For him profusely flowed ; 
And palid were her check and brow, 

Where beauty's language glowed. 

Deep shrouded in her sable crape. 

On gloomy couch reclln'd, 
In anguish keen she mourn'd the loss 

Of one so good and kind. 
But, ah ! — like that of fickle friends — 

Her grief was feigned, I fear ; 
For soon, with tearless eye, she sought 

Gay, shallow, earthly cheer. 

I saw her next with sparkling eye, 

Trip gaily to the bower 
Where pride, and vanity, and mirth, 

The senses overpower. 
And there amid the giddy throng, 

None louder laughed than she — 
Nor flirted with the crowd, or danced 

With lighter, merrier glee. 



123 

Was this the mourner I observed, 

A few short weeks before, 
In ashy paleness, weeping for 

Her friend, who is no more ? — 
Ah ! yes, 'tis true. Alas ! how soon 

She mingled with that train 
Who seek for peace in pleasure's bower, 

Yet often find it vain. 

Tell me, kind friends — when I am low 

Beneath some crumbling tree, 
Oh ! sai/, like him that sleeps, shall I 

No more remembered be ? 
I cannot brook the gloomy thought. 

It chills, it freezes me 
To think, when this light spirit 's fled, 

I shall forgotten be. 

But hush, my soul, 'twill all be well 

'\^^len 'neath the turf I sleep ; — 
I would not claim a single sigh, 

Nor ask one friend to weep ; 
But I would humbly crave of TJiee, 

Great God ! to think of me. 
O, take — when to Death's call I yield, — 

Take me to dwell with Thee 1 



124 

REFLECTIONS OF THE INEBRIATE, 

IN PRISON. 



Forth, from a sea of dreams 
Terrific, I have come, now to behold 
My loathsome self— the slave of appetite. 
Is it a dream, or do I wake ? Where now 
Am I ? — Who, who so base, what fieri d 
Has led me here ? 

— Must I within these walls, 
These di-eary walls, incarcerated be. 
Stung with remorse, to count the tardy hours 
Away ? I, who was thought to be the child 
Of promise — nursed and reared so tenderly. 
In love so oft admonished, — ]\Iust I, here 
Upon this restless couch, amid the vile, 
Linger Avith tortured soul, feeling that all 
To me is lost? — Away ! take from my sight 
Those haggard forms — they mock, they laugh, they pierce 
Me, Avhile I'm dying. 

— Oh ! how have I spurn'd 
My own, indulgent home, to seek the gay, 
Licentious throng ; how have I wilful plunged,— 
Heeding no angel voice — headlong, down, do^cn 
To ruin ! — Tears, oh ! agonizing tears, 
From a fond bosom wrung, have I beheld 
Course down my injured mother's cheek. 

— IIow oft, 
With eloquent appeal, have friends, warm friends, 



125 

Stood by this worthless form, my ca'.hnis heart 
To move ? But oh ! I heeded not their words, 
I steel'd my lieart against their warning voice — 
Now I must drink the bitter draught, 
And pine away and die. 

— Where are those eyes, 
Those floating eyes of light, that used to " mark 
My coming, and grow brighter when I came '?" 
Oh ! where 's the form I once adored — of her 
I vowed to love and cherish. Tell me, quick, 
Ye " ministers of ill " that hover ro und 
My aching temples, — if such fiends as you 
Do bear a message from a source so pure — 
Say, have I grieved away fore'er that love 
She breathed so oft to me ? 

— Away, Away I 
And mock no more this bleeding heart 
With grimaces and laughter, for I am 
Forlorn, forsaken. Give, oh! give to me 
Some drug, that quick into forgetfulness 
Will steep my tortui-cd spirit. 

* — I behold, 

Methinks, in yonder nook, a form. He comes I 
'Tis he who brought me here I 'Tis he who roach'd 
From sparkling board the poisoned bowl, to gain 
My gold, and plunge my spirit in despair. 
Come ! I am low, give me thy hand I — 
Ah ! now I have thee I Nought shall loose this grasp, 
Save the great monarch, Death, till I have shown 
To thee a picture fraught with gloom and agony. 



126 

— Gaze — 
Nay, struggle not, 1 have thee fast, — 
Gaze on the orphan, toss'd on " life's 
Tempestuous ocean." Hear his sighs. Low sleep 
Ilis parents— sunk in infamy. Would'st know 
The cause ? call on the bowl, and it shall speak 
As if the dead sent up with hollow voice 
A solemn dirge, reflecting on the hand 
That passed the fatal cup to those once bright, 
Now palsied, lips. 

— Look at the mother I — See I 
With grief o'erwhelmed, in agony she bends 
Low o'er the ghastly features of a son 
Who might, in her declining years, have been 
A source of joy and comfort. He, too, quaff''d 
From thine own hand, the deadly drops, and fell. 
Gaze now on me, whose eyes once beamed 
With joy — me, who was nurtured in the lap 
Of ease and affluence. Behold these eyes, 
Xow dim, inflamed, soon to be closed in death ; 
View now this once full, manly form, and see 
It wasting fast aAvay. The darkling worm 
Full soon will claim these 'matlate limbs. 

' Twas you that brought me here. You gave me first 
The ruby drops, and I did sip. You plann'd 
My fall, and all for what? For gold! I fiU'd 
Your coffers, and you fed me witli the drink 
Of death. Behold, behold me prostrate — lost! 
Oh ! if In thee there Is one chord, as yet, 
Of sympathy, untouched, — my weak appeal 
May not be lost on air. 



127 

— Toll mo, 
You ^Yho up to your nciglil)Our's lips oft hoUI 
Tlic fasoinating, burning cup, — 
Who deal out free this drink of death — tell me, 
If in the midnight watch, you ne'er have heard 
The orphan's wail, and Avidow's groan ? Have you 
Not sometimes fancied in a group 
Before you, mothers, fathers, children, bow'd 
To earth in sorrow ? And did not a voice 
Cry out, (as if from hollow tomb It came,) 
"' Vou are the trilj'iil cause of thk distress ?" 
I loose your hand — go and reflect — resolve 
That you no more up to your neighboi-'s lip 
Will lift the sparkling, treacherous cup. Ilollect ! 
The- scene is o'er — I'm dvins: now — Farewell. 



CHARGE FOR THE BATTLE. 

Daylight is breaking o'er the plain — 

Our flag stirs with the morn ; 
Sentry — what of tlio liye-past night — 

Heard you the distant horn V 
It is the ioc, now riiliying 

In yonder everglade ; 
His banner dare; not float above - 

The ambush where lie 's laid. 

The stirring drum, liowe'or, must wake 
The drowsy of our camp; 



128 

'Twere well to watcli the lurking foe, 

Of devastating tramp. 
Daylight Is beaming o'er the hills, 

Soldiers, awake, arise ! 
Look to the South, and East, and West, — 

Points where your glory lies. 

Let us pursue the haughty King, 

Nor dread his clash of spear ; — 
Nerved be each arm — and resolute 

Each heart to banish fear. 
Up, up, In column firm and bold. 

And with the martial lay 
Let every foot press eager on 

In this propitious day. 

Full long " King Alcohol " has prowl'd 

AVIth desolating sway. 
Through city, town, and village bower — 

And o'er the ocean spray. 
The proud usurper still Is wont 

To boast an array strong ; 
Shall Avc, who've pledged to smite him low. 

List meekly to his song ? 

No! — be it known through earth's domains, 

That the " Cold Water Band " 
Have vowed no quarter, and will hunt 

Their foe, from land to land : 
Aye, more — they're pledged to grind to dust 

The King and all his host ; 
And if to conquer they should f;iil — 

Will die, 7?rm at their post. 



129 
VOICES IN THE GROVE. 

ROMANCE. 



'TwAS there Attillio and Virginia met, 

To mingle sighs of sadness and regret ; 

Full well they knew that fate would bid them part, 

And each sat musing with a heavy heart. 

Towards the close of a lovely day in rosy summer, I 
wandered alone away from the din of business and mirth 
on a mission of reflection. 

I soon found myself seated upon a favorite mossy bank, 
in the grateful shade of a beautiful spruce and balsam 
grove, musing o'er scenes and hopes long past away. — 
Presently two stately and genteel forms appeared in the 
distance, and soon passed quite near, seeming wholly 
unconscious of my presence ; and at a short distance from 
my chosen bower, in a most enchantingly sequestered 
spot, they reclined upon a pleasant old ledge of moss- 
covered rocks. 

Attillio leaned upon his hand, seeming deeply 
(lioughtful, and at a few paces from him sat Virginia, in 
a meditative and pensive mood. All around was 
profound silence, save an occasional echo of a sweet 
wild-wood bird, and the low murmuring of balmy zephyrs 
jmiong the festooned branches of the surrounding trees 
.md shrubbery. 

1 could not deem it ungallant or cruel to retain my 
poifition in quiet, to observe the result of so apparently 

12 



130 



serlons au interview between those interesting strangers- 
I soon overheard from the lips of the beautiful maiden, 
these words uttered with singular and melancholly 
emphasis : — When I shall have left thee, Attillio. Where- 
upon, the unhappy lover suddenly started up, and clasping 
his hands, deeply agitated gazed intently upon her, then, 
before him in sadness and tears. 

Although his lips for a time were mute, methought I 
heard the inmost language of his swelling bosom, thus : — 

Oh, Virginia, for the sake of my future peace breathe 
not those chilling M'ords again ; they steal o'er my senses 
like the hollow echo of the chariot of death, consigning 
my lone spirit to unutterable gloom ; and yet I blame 
thee not ; full well I know thy stern father's harsh decree,^ 
and his boasting of thy lofty lineage ; but 

" Who shall school the heart's affections — 
Who shall teach us to forget ?" 

How" shall I brave my dubious fate, when thou must 
turn, alas, from me to smile, to speak, to meet, no more 
on earth. " Oh, where is Lethe's fabled stream, that I 
may plunge deep into forgetfulness ?" Ah, my own 
Virginia, I see warm tears forth swelling in those vestal 
eyes — Oh, how can I lose their soul-lit radiance, and 
not sink deep adown the caverns drear of darkness. — 
Those beaming features, fair as summer skies, and 
winning as an angel's smile — how can I lose their pensive 
beauty and refining eloquence, and not account my 
future life a dark and dubious voyage. That voice of 
dreamy magic sweetness — how can I miss its language 
of emotion, its seraphic tones, its sympathetic music, and 
not grow dull, and feel my being scarcely worth a 
struggle. 



131 



That soul, refined and pure, outbrcathing joy and 
irladness all around, making my heart a harp of tuneful 
Titriogs ', bow can I lose its genial light and not 
droop low in chilling shades, 'neath hopeless clouds. — 
Will not that form of grace and elegance come again to 
bless these sorrowing eyes ? 

Oh, how can I lose so much of true devotion worthy, 
und not feel pangs of ceaseless griof within this fond, but 
•darkly fated bosom. 

Here the interview seemed drawing to a close. A 
beautiful guitar lay near the lovers, which Virginia 
took up, and accompanied her sweet voice to a plaintive 
melody, tims: 

•' Yes, we must part, since fate has so deereed it; 

They bid me roam, this fetter'd heart to free ; 
Saying, love should die when hope no more can feed it — 

But ne'er will I forget, Attillio, thee-" 

At the close of this sentence, performed with great 
pathos, Virginia wept intensely, offering the guitar to 
Attillio, who commenced a sweet, but melancholy sort of 
air, as a prelude before he sung a reply. I Immediately 
stole away from the. glen, leaving them alone. As I 
receded from them, the whispering zephyrs from the soft 
twilight-tinted skies, brought on their azure wings Attil- 
lio's pensive music, thus: 

Oh, if beneath the high-arched azure skies 
No more I meet the gaze of those lov'd eyes ; 
Hear, Holy One above, my earnest prayer — 
Ma^ we in Heaven meet, thy smiles to share. 



132 



SCANDAL-A TRADE. 



All men learn trades, and so do ivomen, too, 
For all must have some sort of work to do ; 
The stern decree went forth at Adam's fall, 
And none have right to idleness at all. 

It were a task more pleasing to my pen, 

To sing in loftier tone of maids and men ; 

But all may see the object of my theme — 

'Tis no strange fancied tale or phantom-dream. 

With some, not overwise, it is a rule 

When out o£work; to act the part of fool. 

" Paul Prys" are numerous in our path abont. 

Striving to find their neighbors' business out. 

Had they some better trade on which to lean, 

They might be spared from being thought so meam 

It would not be : " Who 's that in yonder street ? 

And what's his mission? (he looks wondrous neat :) 

Who feeds and clothes him ? ('tis not me or you ;) 

I wonder what the fellow means to do ! 

Ah ! there 's a woman passing — what 's her name ? 

I'd like to know from what strange town she came. 

I guess — no matter — you know what I mean, 

There 's some suspicion on her flowing sheen. 

I don't think much of — names I do not call ; 

I've watched her motions, 'hem ! you know — that 's all. 

********** 

Foul hearts I — traducers, stained in sin and shame ! 
How ready ye to blast the brightest name ! 



133 



Insinuations — ah ! the dacjgcrs blade 

Give me, before the gossip's black tirade. 

But none are idle, none in Heaven's band, 

And sure the " Dark One " owns no lazy hand ; 

For God, or for the demon King, we strike ; — 

There is no way of loving both alike ; 

There is no half-way place, to stop and rest ; 

We're on the road to sin, or with the blest. 

Thus all earth's artizans and traders go — 

Onward in truth, or headlong down to wo. 

When times grow dull, some voices loudly cry : 

" What shall we do to keep away a sigh ?" 

Then, tales of scandal they set to and weave. 

Which sears their hearts, and makes their neighbours 

grieve. 
When shallow gossips find nought else to do. 
Black Slander's haggard self they eager woo ; 
If ne'er be/ore, they'll now be up at dawn. 
And out, in shabby dress, Avith Scandal's horn. — 
Who calmly listens to their grating " Zel," 
Deserves — what now I do not choose to tell. 

Oh ! there are hearts hateful and cold as ice. 
Souls smaller than the thoughts of smallest mice, 
And meaner than the meanest creeping thing 
That darts on slimy way with deadly sting. 
Such green-eyed maw-worms have no other trade, 
Heuce they are forced to dig with Scandal's spade. 

*12 



134 



ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 



Dark was the moment, wlien the message came 

That she was dying. Sad, and sick at heart, 

With hurried step I moved on eager way, 

To press the hand and kiss the faded cheek, 

And hear the plaintive voice of her so dear. 

I bent me o'er the calm and patient one, 

And heard, with saddened heart, her falt'ring tones. 

A prayer burned on her lips, for all she loved. 

Reluctant, those around her restless couch, 

To view approaching death. Hope lingered thei'C, 

And loving hearts hung close upon its wing ; 

The chosen of her youth, a husband kind, 

To soothe her fevered brow, stood at her side. 

And breathed to heaven a prayer that she might live : 

Yet " Not his will, but God's on high be done." 

Fond parents, sisters, brothers, children, friends. 

Were near ; and each, in turn, with heartfelt love, 

To save her, strove 'gainst Death's remorseless grasp. — 

But all in vain, — his giant arm prevailed. 

She felt his ruthless touch, nor murmur raised ; 

Gazed on her children dear — call'd one by one, 

To hear the counsel of a dying friend ; 

Looked on the troubled ones around her bed, 

And thus : 

" Why weep ye, friends ? I fear not death ; 
O, give me up to rest in Jesus' arms! 
Come, sing to me, for I depart in peace ; 
Bring me sweet strains of music, bring me flowera, 



135 

For heaven is bright'ning in my view. I hear 
The harps of gold, by seraph fingers touched ; 
I see the living green, and fadeless bowers — 
O ! it is heaven I see ! let me depart ! 
Yet, sing with me, while on my throbbing brow 
Death's shade is gathering fast. INIy husband, sing, 
And sisters, brothers, join ; 'twill soothe my pain. 
Yes, ' Jesus is my Crown of hope.' Sing on* — 
Once more that strain, ' Waft me away ;' 'tis sweet, 
E'en though my pulse grows faiiit and fainter still. 
********* 

And I enjoy these Jlowers, so kindly given : 
They speak of God — ' Sweet flowers of Paradise ;' 
They speak of friends who know they too, must die ; 
They speak of heaven. O ! beautiful, bright flowers ! 
And music ! how they come to glad my heart. 
As I go hence to glorious home !" 

A moment more — 
One last, fond look, and whisper : " Bless you all I" 
And the bright spirit winged its way to heaven. 

«- 
She sleeps, and we must sigh in vain ; 
No eye will mark her coming more ; 
Her 'maciate form, among the slain, 
Lies still and cold on clayey floor. 

They sleep — both mother and her own. 

Her infant one upon her arm : 
And kindred may not cease to moan, 

E'en though the loved are free from barm. 



* She requested music and flowers^ while dying. 



136 

Her voice seems floating on the air : 

" Why mourn, dear friends, so much for me ? 

Away your grief and blighting care, — 
My spirit lives, from sorrow free." 

'Tis consolation sweet and true, 
To think the lost we'll meet again. 

In yonder circling dome of blue. 
Where love and joy eternal reign. 



FAREWELL TO FRIENDS AND HOME. 

WRITTEN ON LEAVING HOME. 
NOVEMBER, 1837. 



'Tis not a dream ; 
My heart throbs wildly sad — I must away ; 
The ship is ready — friends and home, adieu ; 
Far o'er the tracMess sea fixte bids me roam. 

Oh, if perchance 
No more I greet the friends I sadly leave, 
Hope shall uplift the heart that falters now, 
And I, in fancy will behold a land 
Of changeless beauty — ever sunny clime. 
Where saddened spirits joyous meet again, 
Feeling that all is fadeless youth and love, 
And music, such as heaven alone reveals. 

Farewell ye bright enchanting groves — ye fields 
Enamel'd with sweet flowers, where oft I've strayed ; 



137 

Yo warbling minstrels of the glossy plume, 
That oft have thrill'd with joy and love, this breast ; 
Ye crystal streams that leap o'er crag and rotk 
Murmuring soft music as ye wind along ; 
Ye playful herds upon my native hills — 
And yon low cottage, 'neath whose mossy roof 
Bright eyes do brighter grow when friends come nigh 
All, fare ye well, I may not come again. 

And thou, Piscataqua — oh, river dear. 
On whose translucent bosom oft my sail 
Has caught the summer breeze, and borne my skill 
Smoothly along thy grassy banks — and there. 
Beneath the shadow of o'erhanging trees, 
Anchored my light canoe, to qualT the breath 
Of wildwood flowers, and list the song of birds — 
Farewell — no more my eyes those scenes may view. 
Far in a distant clime may rest this form 
Beneath the turf in some lone cypress shade. 
Yet not my will, while Heaven directs my course, 
Not mine be done — I am resigned. 



ON THE DEATH OF MISS E. M. S. 

A BELOVED MEMBER OF THE NORTH CHURCH CHOIR. 



Life is a voyage onward to death, 
AH know— kyr feel this truth ; 

We near the mark at each frail breath, 
Alike in age and youth. 



138 . 

Sadly and stern the last drear night 
Came, with foreboding tone ; 

And her whose hopes had risen bright 
Now breathed her last, low moan. 

Consumption marked her for its own, 

Exulting in the prize ; 
And while near friends feel sad and lone 

Her spirit heavenward flies. 

Tears ushered forth of keenest grief 
From parents watching there; 

<->h, how shall 'reft ones find relief, 
'Mid death''s cold, ghastly glare. 

Spirit, that oft in music's tone, 
Breathed joyous all the day : 

Oh soul, that pure and modest shone. 
We miss thy chering ray. 

Lost one — nurtured by care and love, 

Of sixteen summers bright ; 
Thou heard'st a whisper from above — 

Soul, upward wing thy flight. 

Fair maid, obliging, kind and true, 
Of voice and manners bland : 

To thee pure joys have dawned to view, 
In the bright spirit land. 



139 
UNCERTATNTr OF HAPPINESS. 



The stern book of experience every day lays open its 
beclouded pages, that we may draw frequent and useful 
lessons therefrom. Fate's relentless pen has indelibly 
written upon one page these significant words, "passing 
away." Yet there seems to be a shining hand in the 
bright prospective beckoning us onward — and our fancy 
disposes us to the belief that no darksome shadows will 
obscure our high hopes in the clear circlet of life's future 
sky. Imagination now is wont to soar among the joy-lit 
scenes which we suppose to be in store for us : alas ! too 
often proving but a hopeless dream. We imagine the 
picture to be just what we would have it, but our imper- 
fect menial eye deceives us, as the natural eye is deceived 
in striving to identify objects wholly beyond its limited 
power of vision. We gaze upon a distant landscape with 
delighted eyes, and enraptured bosoms. The heart wildly 
throbs at the thought of approaching the beautiful spot. 
There seems a cottage o'ershadowed with brightly blos- 
somed woods. Around the door the tall ripening grass 
seems waving to the gentle summer gales. The trees 
and shrubbery flowing in bright silken sheen, seem to 
invite us to their refreshing shade and fragrance. Spark- 
ling flowrets on the hills around exhale their perfume on 
the air. Life, health, happiness and beauty appear to be 
established upon this distantly surveyed spot. But it is a 
dim and far oiT view, and in proportion as the limited 
capacity of our optics fail to discern the entire truth, we 
call on fancy to complete the scene. 

On a nearer approximation to the supposed charming 



140 



landscape what do our eyes in truth behold ? The cottage 
we had taken to be a dwelling, comfortable and elegant, 
proves, to our astonishment, a lonely, shattered hovel. 
Its inmates, whose imagined ease and affluence we may 
have envied, are but the objects of penury, and degra- 
dation. The very apartments, within whose supposed 
quiet and sweet atmosphere we longed to repose, are only 
fit places for the swine that are rooting about the dilapi- 
dated premises. The land around is uncultivated, bear- 
ing the impress of poverty, intemperance and indolence. 
There are no bright and perfumed flowers to lend a 
charm to the picture. The grass is thin and parched, and 
the entire scene which we had fancied so inviting, on the 
near approach proves a repulsive and mortifying delusion. 
In gazing thus upon the picture I have here attempted 
to present to the imagination, we find in our mistaken 
view, life's disappointments and mortifications vividly 
illustrated. Although there are innocent pleasures and 
delights on earth, they are of uncertain duration. Every 
intelligent mind is more or less familiar with the illusions 
of the world. Yet who shall say it is not well that " there 
is a hand in the cheerless vista of life forever beckoning 
us onward.?" Our error lies in building too confidingly 
upon hopes which so often prove unsubstantial and evan- 
escent. We naturally look forward in life with glorious 
anticipations of lasting friendship and love, agreeable and 
successful pursuits, and unalloyed happiness : but alas 
how often are such anticipations chilled into icy hopeless- 
ness by human deception, unrequited affection, grief and 
blighted promises, rising up before us like spectral images, 
to mock and tantalize our yearning, hopeful hearts. 
Hence the importance of solid preparation to meet suc- 
cessfully, emergencies so common and so serious. 



141 



BIRD-KILLERS. 



O ! THAT I were some giant bird, 
With claws and poignard beak, — 

rd fix tbem deep, without a word, 
Into the gunner's cheek. 

And had I wings of iron nerve, 

Like eagles', bold and strong, 
Eager in battle, I would serve 

To smite the sportsman throng. 

Or e'en a smaller bird I'd be, 

With ever-pointed bill ; 
Ne'er more should heartless gunner see, — 

Into his eye I'd drill. 

A thousand vultures' strength Td crave. 

With condors' daring wing, 
So I could grasp the idle knave 

Who'd shoot a harmless thing : 

Then would I soar to clouds on high, 

Nor heed his wail or wo ; 
But softly whisper : " Friend, good bye," 

And drop him down below. 

So soon as feathered minstrels sing, 

The hateful gunners start ; 
And through the grove their rities ring, 

Tearing bright birds apart. 

13 



142 

Shame, on the selfish, cruel soul. 
Who seeks the Summer-ground,. 

Like fiend sent out on dark patrol. 
To scatter death around. 

O ! that I were some fleet-winged bird. 
With claws and fearful beak, — 

I'd fix them deep, without a word, 
In heartless gunner's cheek. , 



TO THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY- 

IMPROMPTU. 



Sing on, sing on, nor hush those strains- 
That lend the weary spirit rest ; 

No plaint from bright Italia's plains 

Could wake more rapture in the breast. 

O ! sweep again the soothing lyre, 
And we'll forget earth's busy din ; 

Sing, minstrels, with Promethean fire : 
Such tones ne'er fail the heart to wia. 

And must ye murmur, deep and low, 
The saddening strain — the last adieu ? 

Then, minstrels, if 'tis even so, 

Health, joy, go every where with you. 



143 



THE WELCOME MESSENGER AT SEA. 



Sug£^csted on seeiiicr a small, lone, beautiful bird alight 
on the quarter-rail of the ship Isaac Newton, twenty 
leagues from land, while on a passaae to New Orleans, in 
Nov. 1837. Adapted to the air of the" Carrier Pigeon." 

Bright bird of the land of my childhood, 

I welcome, thrice welcome thee here ; — 
But why leave the charms of the wild wood, 

To wander where all is so drear ? 
•Come nearer — I'll call thee my own one, 

Thou bird of the plumage so fair; 
No harm shall befall thee, thou lone one ; 

I'll guard thee with kindness and care. 

Did'stthou leave friends at home, kindly dreaming 

Of him now upon the blue sea ? 
On their features was hope brightly beaming, 

When thou whispered of coming to me ? 
No answer ?— Then weave me some story 

Of my home and my own greenwood bower ; 
Sing of voices, high-swelling in glory — 

I will think of those voices, this houn 

Ah ! still is thy silence unbroken ? 

From thee can I learn no fond tale ? 
Take 'neath thy soft wing, then, a token, 

And homeward speed with the fair gale; 
Point thy beak to the North, tiny rover, 

And search out my own native land, 
Where, should'st thou fair Ida discover, 

My token leave sure in her hand. 



144 

Now hence, wing thy way o'er the ocean — 

Nay, lisp not, nor dream thee of fear ; 
But haste ! haste ! on wings of quick motion, 

To tell my lov'd friends I am here. — 
The bird on light wing now is floating 

Along the clear sky, with delight ; 
Still on him my fond eyes are doting — 

Ah ! now is he lost to the sight. 



THE SPIRIT-VOICE TO THE INEBRIATE. 



I HAVE come with a message of love, mortal, 

To avert thy impending doom ; 
Then list to a voice from above, mortal. 

And escape yonder valley of gloom. 

I charge thee, forsake the dark bowl, mortal, 
By its poison thy locks have grown grey ; 

And ah ! it has injured thy soul, mortal, — 
Come, reject it, and choose Virtue's way. 

In her path not a thorn wilt thou find, mortal, 

But roses of beauty are there ; 
Thou shalt have pearls and gems to thy mind, mortal. 

If thou'lt spurn the gay bowl's deadly snare. 

From the demon that tempts thee, oh ! think, mortal^ 
If In darkness thou wish not to plod ; 

Of thy state and thy danger, oh ! shrink, mortal — 
Think of self, of thy friends, and of God. 



145 



HABIT. 



Habit is a consumintr fii'^i in<f> which we blindly or 
madly run, and are either devoured by its flames, or so 
keenly scorched as to fuiil it (lillictdt to procure an anti- 
dote for the smart. Perhaps there is no one wholly ex- 
empt from its subtle influence- It stealthily finds way to 
our hearts, and often before we are aware of the fact it 
has there deeply fastened its fangs. 

The diamond-crowned monarch and the meanest slave 
that quails beneath his frown ; the clo(|uent statesman, 
and the coachman at his call ; the dignified judge on the 
judiciary bench, and tl;e culprit in irons, are alike often 
helpless in tlie iuiplaeable grasp of habit. Men of high 
station and of powerful intellect, have become degraded 
and ignobly peiished beneath its terrible oppression. 

What a startling picture of its melancholy power is ex- 
hibited in the man who oilers a daily oblation at the 
6hrine of Bacchus! If there is nne more degrading and 
disastrous in its consequences than all the rest of the train 
of bad habits, it is that of using ardent spirits as a bever- 
age. Here is the stupendous lever which raises the iron- 
featured demon Vice to so ])roniinent and daring a posi- 
tion in the world. This sin alone has called down from 
heaven repeated and most severe chastisement upon th«'. 
human race ; the great globe itself for a long time ha.s 
seemed to groan benejtth the ponderous weight of the 
towering and mighty car of desolation. Even in this 
enlightened age, in spite of a powerful opposition, 

*13 



146 



its ponderous wheels are still crushing to dust millions 
of human beings, and causing the earth to tremble to its 
very centre. Kiots, contentions and devastating wars are 
nourished by the dense vapors that rise up from the 
foaming and boiling cataract of intemperance. 

The gorgeous trapping and dazzling tinsel of this talis- 
man of darkness and death, divert the attention from the 
flower-enamelled path of virtue. The artful invader of 
peace and happiness h.angs out his torch-light of delusion, 
and man — althongli endowed with discriminating capaci- 
ty — spreads his canvass to the breeze, and v^-ith strange 
infatuation stands at the helm of his own frail vessel, pur- 
suing his course toward the red glare of deception. The 
deluded bark, with Increasing and fearful rapidity, flies 
on toward tlie magic light-honse, which, like a bewilder- 
ing phantom, farther antd farther recedes, until its last 
flickering ray departs — leaving the misguided helmsman 
on a black and rough ocean, in the mazes of ebon night. 
The dreadful cheat is perceived too late to escape the 
roaring and remorseless Maelstrom of destruction, — 

And swiftly down the awful whirlpool's tide 
The bark Is hurried, with its hapless guide ; 
And of the wreck, no vestige floats to show 
Where all is lost in the abyss below. 

Thus, faintly portrayed, Is the all-pervading power 
of habit. It steals upon us like a wily serpent, to 
fasten its fangs deep In the vitals. Once firmly in 
its grasp, how difficult to throw off the heavy, galling 
yoke. Let him who is wont to risk an occasional sip of 
the delusive, bewildering cup of contaminating habit. In 
any form, take heed In season. Above all, let us shun- 



147 



forever, the treacherous smiU? of the ruby wine, lest we 
unconsciously lofe our balance, and go Avith the sweeping 
current over tlie high and shuddering cliff, 

Adown the dark and drear abyss, 
Where hope comes not to promise bliss. 



GRIEF. 



" A wounded spirit, who can bear.'' 

As a lone leaf in Autumn hour, 
Hangs trembling in the blast — 

So this lone spirit feels the pow'r 
Of misery o'er it cast. 

Oh 1 heart, though smitten low, be still, 
Or soon this pulse must cease ; 

Once more, sweet hope, this bosom fill. 
Aad give my spirit peace. 

Alas I grief-striken and forlorn. 
Is doom'd this panting soul ; 

Hope's light, that shone, forc'er is gone- 
Fate's billows o'er me roll. 

As a lone leaf in Autumn day, 
Hangs trembling in the blast. 

So sinks the heart down to decay, 
When hope's bright star is past. 



148 



THE LEARNED PIG. 



Suffffestecl on see'in<r the extrnnnlinarv perforraanco? 
of a \iocile, neat and wonderful pig, exhibited at Frank- 
lin Hall, in 1845. 

It is no fancy sketch, no shark or whale, 

But a true pig, with logs, and nose, and tail. 

I saio the bird, und felt his feathers, too — 

So stiff and sharp they'd pierce your fingers through. 

A starry mantle on his back he wore. 

And 'neath his feet a carpet, on the floor. 

He is a wondrous child, of cunning eyes, 

A well-bred swine, that tells no foolish lies ; 

He is of Quaker cast, his answers yea or nay, 

To nature nearer than some mrji that pray, 

A homely wretch to gaze upon, 'tis true. 

But what are looks ? his manners are quite new. 

Pinrs hitherto may have been crushed too low: 

We pull their tails to make them forward go ; — 

This is no way to tiimper with the swine, 

For though they're low, they can be reared to shine. 

Who saw at Franklin Hall the bristly youth. 

Will know if I am weaving lays of truth; 

I do affirm it was a living pig. 

Without a m.tsk, or painted face, or wig ; 

And some there are called men, in shame might fly, 

To 'scape this pig's all-penetrating eye. 

With steady gaze bent on the wond'ring crowd, 

He'd mark the maiden who her love had vowod, 

And grunting gently, amid laugh and din, 



149 

He'd find tho creature 7nan, who best lov'd gin. 

He's good at figures, ami can multiply 

Quick as the pencil o'er the slate can fly ; 

A card he can select from out a pack, 

To match another, drawn with artful knack ; 

Can tell how many days In month or year — 

Aye, he can do it, neighbor — cease that sneer — 

Can show, by figured cards, his own true age 

( We sometimes skip, in life's stern book, this page) : 

Tell by a ticking watch held to his eye, 

The perfect truth, how time is wont to fly ; 

From many names enwreathed in garlands bright, 

Squire Pig will choose the one you ask, ai-ight ; 

How went the battle upon Champlain's Lake V 

Pig says, proud Perry made the British quake ; 

And who at New Orleans cut down the foe ? 

'Twas Jackson — says the Squire — with dreadful blow 

And who first answered to his country's call ? 

Great AV'ashington — says pig — the best of all. 

O ! there are hearts called hitman, well might learn 
Deep lessons from this pig of knowing turn : 
Yes, idle, ruffian, meddling, heartless mules, 
Lfiarn of this pig, and never more be foqls. 
He minds his master and his business, well, 
Nor runs about with stories vile to tell. 
A wondrous, knowing swine, indeed, is he, 
Nor can we solve the matter, though we see. 
****** 

How grows a blade of grass, or beauteous rose, 
Man reckons often — never truly knows. 
The great sun : is it ice, or lurid fire? 



150 

Sages may guess, but further can't aspire. 
That Mr. Pig is learned, what man will doubt 
Who 's seen the creature act his learning out ? 
How he can answer thus, and multiplyj 
Is more than Sage may tell, or you, or I. 



TO lANTHE. 



The cheerful lyre I tune to-day 

Sheds forth its music free ; 
And, lady, though a simple lay, 

I weave that song for thee. 

May you as cheerfully as now. 
O'er life's broad ocean glide ; 

And not a cloud o'ershade thy brow, 
Nor ills thy life betide. 

Along thy path may fragrant flowers 

Be strewn in briglit array; 
And ever through earth's fairest bowers. 

May you in gladness stray. 

And when thy low pulse dies away. 

Telling that life is o'er ; 
O ! fairest friend, to endless day 

May thy bright spirit soar. 



151 



BEAUTIFUL TREES. 



Life dawn'd — and in my infancy 

I loved the Avaving trees ; 
They seemed like things of life, to me. 

Dancing to Summer breeze. 

My boyhood came — I lov'd them more. 
Was happy 'neath their shade ; 

I placed them near my mother's door, 
And watched them bloom and fade. 

My manhood came — I could not deem 

This love should die away ; 
No, 'tis a pure and pleasant theme 

To sing of trees to-day. 

Earth were a wide and gloomy waste, 

Bereft of trees and flowers ; 
And life less sweet to mortal taste, 

Uncheered by fragrant bowers. 

There'3 molJow music in the trees. 

When Summer's breath comes near; 
It lightly echoes on the breeze, 

It charms the list'ning ear. 

There 's sweetness in the trees at dawn, 

When rosy June is here ; 
Their breath perfumes the golden morn. 

Their beauty gives us cheer. 



152 

There is a lesson In the trees, 

Whose truth the bosom feels ; 
Each leaf that quivers to the breeze, 

The Deity reveals. 

When life's rude storms I've ceased to brave, 

And death o'ershadows me, 
One favor, friend, I earnest crave : 

Plant by my tomb a tree. 



TO A GAY YOUNG FRIEND. 



Thou of the shining ebon hair, 
Of rosy lips and features fair ; — 
Thou of the dark and vestal eyes, 
Outbreathing language from the skies ;- 
Thou of the young and buoyant soul, 
As oft'tiraes grave as thou art droll ; — 
Thou of the bright carnation cheek. 
That love's pure lip is wont to seek ; — 
Thou of pure breath, as roses sweet, 
Be thou, in word and deed, disckeet. 



153 



PLEASANT VISITS: OR, KATE AND LILLA. 

A Poem in four parts, j)ublished in the Portsmouth 
Journal and copied into other papers, in 1839, over the 
signature of " Cousin Jcz." 



PART FIRST. 

Good morning, Kate. You naughty girl ! 

I have a mind to scold : 
Why have you not fulfilled your word '? — 

Of late you have grown cold. 
You promised, yester' eve, to call 

And walk with me to-day, 
Through Court, Vaughan, Market and State streets, 

To hear what people say. 

I rose this morn at half-past eight ! 

(La, Kate, how you stare,) 
And waited patiently at home. 

For you to meet me there. 
'Tis now past ten, an<l you just up ! 

Do haste your motions, Kate, 
Or we shall never call on Jane, — 

I'm sure 'twill be too late. 

Do tell me if you heard the news — 

'Tis flying every where — 
Of ]\Ir. , (you know who I mean,) 

And Miss , who is so fair ? 

I'm sure 'tis true — 'tis broken oflf ! 

I told you 'twould be so : 
La! one could see, with half an eye, 

She thought him but a beau. 
14 



154 

And only think of Susan Dash, 

Engaged to that great Owl : — 
She wouldn't mind one of her friends — 

Whene'er they spoke, she'd scowl. 
There's giddy -, (I shall call no names,^ 

And her friend, Mr. Po: 
She yet will find him insincere — 

His liistory I know. 

Oh ! Kate, how like a fright you look — 

You'd almost scare the crows ; — 
Do give up visiting to-day : 

I've waited till I'm froze. — 
I wish Vic' braid' was not the rage^ 

I really do wish so ; 
For I am two hours, every morn, 

Ei'e I my head can show. 

There \ stir the fire, and I will stay 

To have a good long talk ; 
We'll pass an hour in joyous mood. 

Instead of going to walk. 
Last eve I went to dancing-school. 

And there I saw , you know : 

(The truth is, Kate, he is an owl, — 

But we must not say so.) 

At Mrs. Flimm's, last week, I heard 

The truth of Mr. Mawl : 
The rebel scolds and beats his wife, 

Yet she denies it all. 



155 

You know a certain match was made : 

(The fashion now-a-days :) 
Well, they are both unhappy, too, — 

I've found out all tlieir ways. 

Dear me 1 how late ! 'tis one o'clock I 

What will ma say to me ? 
I promised to be back at twelve. 

! stay, dear, stay to tea ! 

O ! no, I can't — hark ! some one knocks- 
Give m« my bonnet, Kate — 

As I'm alive, 'tis Mr. . (Hush!) 

Why did he call so late ? 

Don't hurry — let him stand and wait — 

1 would'nt see his face : 
He 's so affected, such a, fop, 

And speaks with such ill grace, 
Do wait a minute, let me run — 

Do let me run away. 
I'll tell you, dear, to-morrow eve. 

The rest I have to say. 



PART SECOND. 

Good evening, Kate, — how do you do ? 

I've longed to see you so 
It seems a month since we last met — 

('Tis just one day, you know). 



156 

I yester' noon left in such haste, 

From Mr. ("Hush!") to get. 

That I had fears you would, my love, 
Allow yourself to fret. 

I promised, when I saw you last, 

To tell you something more : 
'Twould take all day to say one half 

I've kept for you in store. 
First, only think of Cousin Jez, — 

His heart is like a flint — 
The wretch has overheard our talk, 

And put it into print [ 

Though he 's my Cousin, I don't care, 

He is — an ugly thing, 
And ma shall scold him when he comes 

Again to hear me sing^ 
You doubtless have invited been 

To Miss Speakwell's, to-night. 
What will be prettiest to wear ? 

You know best what is right. 

There will be quite a jam, I think — 

Oh, dear ! such times I hate ; — 
But there, we can't refuse ta go, 

Though we will not stay late. 
To think of meeting Mr. ("Hush I") 

That graceless fop, that clown ; 
And that great— la 1 that Mr. Po, 

A spark oi great renown. 



157 

There will be A., and E., and M., 

And forty more, or so — 
I wonder who will be tlie belle — 

I'm great mind not to go, 
For Cousin Jez, I know'll be there, 

And he is such a quiz 
That we shall fear to breath a word 

In presence of his phiz. 

O, Kate ! here goes that ]\Iiss Gazelle, 

With Mr. (Don't speak loud !) 

They both are seen quite frequently. 

Among the lively crowd. 
Some say it yet will be a match, 

In opposition's spite, 
For if their interviews are few, 

They both, perhaps, may icrile. 

There 's Susan Dash just gone along-,— 

Lai how she struts about — 
1 don't believe, one half the time, 

Her " mother knows she's out." — 
As I'm alive, there 's giddy Teaze, 

And with her, Mr. Owl — 
Dear me ! ha ! ha ! how her dress hanga- 

Do see the creature scowl. 

To Lyceum, last Tuesday night, 

I went, without a beau ; 
I hope you will not blame me, Kate, 

For gents are scarce, you know ; 
• 14 



158 

'Twere vain, in this cold clime, to wait 

The coming of the swains ; 
For many of them wouldn't care 

If we were bound in chains. 

Now, Lilla, let your patient Kate — 

Who much from you doth learn — 
Have one half hour in twenty-four : 

I think it is her turn. 
Nay, dearest, pray don't take offence, 

For we are much alike — 
I only Avish to say a word 

About that Mr. Spike : — 

I almost hate to see his face, 

He talks about folks so ; 
At least, dear Lilla, this I'm told — 

He 's insincere, yon know. — 
Ah me ! how strange, how passing strange 

In this enlightened age. 
That slander leaps from every tongue — 

Alas ! 'tis all the rage. 

I'm glad, dear Kate, we're free from all 

Such gossiping about — 
(I hope that ugly Cousin Jez 

Won't know, to-day, I'm out.) 
There, I must run, for ma will scold 

If I prolong my call ; 
We'll meet to-night, at Miss Speakwell's. 

Good by—" Good bye"— don't fall ! 



159 

PART THIRD. 

Rap, rap ! oh, dear ! how impolite! 

Do, ma, learn who is there ; — 
Say I'm engaged — I'm just down stairs, 

And liavn't dressed my hair. 
(As I am living, 'tis her voice.) 

Why, Lil, you dear, dear soul ! 
"Where have you kept yourself this age ? 

Come in — don't I look droll? 

You do, indeed. Miss Kate, look queer ; 

Why ! it is ten o'clock, 
And still your hair in paper hid. 

And you in undress-frock ! 
I'm half offended with you, Mss ; 

Should think you'd blush with shame, 
To stay so long away from me, 

And then say I'm to blame. 

It is three weeks since we last met, 

You know, at Miss Speakwell's; 
We promised, then, to meet next day, 

And talk of beaux and belles. 
But, there ! the weather— oh dear, dear 

How horrid it has been I 
I dared not venture out in kid — 

(Rubbers ought not be seen.) 

That quizzing Cousin Jez, of yours. 
Some fault, perhaps, would find. 

If some folks didn't suit his taste — 
I think he 'a quite unkind. 



160 

I wish he'd mind his business, Kate, 

And let us girls alone ; 
He'd better talk about great boys, 

Who are to evil prone. 

la ! dear me ! who cares for him ? 
We'll do just what we please : 

1 guess he's punished pretty well 
When he meets giddy Teaze. 

They both were at Miss Speakwell's jam- 
We knew Jez would be there — 

But how provoking ! Miss Gazelle 
Was called so wondrous fair. 

La ! she can play, and sing, and flirt, 
And so can others, too : 

I was so vexed to see her there 
I thought I should have flew. 

And Susan Dash, too, with her beau, 
A pi'etty, silly boy ; 

Dear me ! I should much sooner think- 
Why I he is a mere toy. 

Here 's Miss Gazelle and Mr. Q., 

Look quick ! they're going by ; 
I guess 'tis true, the match is made — 

I think he oft will sigh. 
I wonder where is Mr. Po, 

And his fiiend Judy Jay ; 
1 couldn't bear him, could you. Rat*? t- 

I saw her, yesterday. 



161 

But not one sentence have you dropped 

About Lyceum night ; 
I saw you in the box with them, 

Next to Miss Always Right. 
The speaker, Mr. , from abroad, 

Was able, without doubt, 
But oh ! to say none should be hanged — 

I wished, then, I was out. 

Why, Lilla! do you think him wrong — 

Is't right, do you believe, 
To take a life for any crime ? — 

Such thoughts your Kate doth grievvj. 
Why no — perhaps the arguments, 

In full I did not hear : 
For Susan Dash and giddy Teaze 

Kept whispering in my ear. 

I saw it all— and from the stage 

'Twas noticed all the time, — 
Such conduct, at our Lyceum, 

Will never, never chime. 
The boys are bad enough, we know. 

But oh ! I blush to say 
That many of us, girls so fair, 

Are very much too gay. 

I have a thousand things to say, 

But only think, how late I 
i only meant to stay an hour, 

Ma told me not to wait. 



162 

I tliought you'd walk out with me, dear, 
To hear the news, to-day — 

O, I forgot ! you've changed your mind- 
Have left off being gay. 

Why, Lilla ! how you talk to me I 

You think I've changed, it seems; 
I have been thinking, for some time, 

To feast no more on dreams. 
You're really very good, or odd — ■ 

I see how 'tis, Miss Kate : 
I know you're weary of my calls. 

Good bye — I've staid too late. 



PART FOURTH. 

Well ! so, Miss Kate, you've deigned to call, 

At last, to see your Lil ; 
We parted in a pet, 'tis true, 

But yet I love you still. 
You know I cannot bear a frown 

Or an indifferent air : 
When friends I love grow cold, I sink 

Almost into despair. 

But no reflections will I cast, — 

I'll not reproach you more : 
That smile shall now return for you, 

That once your Lilla wore, 



163 

"lis eight, yes, ten weeks, I believe, 
Since we exchanged a word ; 

Now, dear, sit down and pass the day — 
Do tell me all you've heard. 

I've felt quite discontented, Lil, 

For two long months, or more ; 
And I have come, now, to impart 

What I've for you in store : 
My cloak and bonnet you may take, 

As I shall pass the day : — 
Ma told me not to make a call 

Again on Judy Jay. 

Why ? what objection could she raise, 

My dear, against INIiss Jay ? 
I'm sure she 's amiable and kind — 

I've sent for her to-day. 
She 's coming with her Cousin Jane — 

You know Iter very well. 
And Judy Jay, I'm sure, will pass — 

Indeed ! she 's quite a belle. 

Now, Lilla, you are much deceived, 

Or misinformed I've been. 
This Judy Jay is not so good, 

Nor quit« so fair, I ween : 
Or, if she is so very fair. 

So amiable and kind, — 
Just listen to the tale I bear, 

And then judge of her mind. 



164 

She drinks strong tea, and uses paint, 

Eats charcoal, cloves and chalk ; 
And then complains of feeble health ! 

No wonder people talk ! 
Much of her time is vainly spent 

In novel-reading, too ; 
And when she 's tired of this, she cries 

Oh dear ! what shall T do ? 

You know she 's quite sarcastic, too ; 

Speaks ill of Mr. Spear ; — 
He does not heed her kind remarks, 

They cannot draw a tear. 
But I came not to villify, 

Or give offence, dear Lil, 
If you expect her here to-day, 

Perhaps I ought be still. 

I thought, dear Kate, you'd serious grown. 
Thrown scandal to the wind — 

But, like myself, you're in the dark, 
And cannot see, I find. 

With grasp tenacious, (truth is truth) 
To gossipplng we cling : 

Around each form of loveliness 
A mantle black we fling ; 

We see no good in any heart, 

Save in our own, so pure ; 
We magnify slight faults in friends, 

And think them passed all cure. 



165 

We first accuse and then condemn ; 

Are judge and jury, sill : 
But if unbosomed was the truth, 

Should we not quickly Ikll ? 

Blest charity, you know, dear Kate, — 

An attribute divine- 
Scarce thinks her neighbor in the wrong. 

Oh I where is yours — is mine ? 
We've slandered A., and E. and M., 

And Mr. (" Hush !") you know ; 
With Susan Dash and giddy Teaze, 

And that good Mr. Po. 

And we have laughed at Mr. Spike, 

Have slandered Mr. Owl; 
Whene'er we passed by Mrs. Flimm's 

We always wore a scowl. 
Miss Always Right and Miss Gazelle 

Have fallen in our way, 
With Miss Speakwell and Mr. Q., 

And Jane and Judy Jay. 

There 's Mr. , you know who I mean, 

And that hard Mr. Mawl ; 
The lovely Miss , too, who 's so fair — 

None have escaped at all. 
In eager haste and thoughtless glee, 

With phial filled with gall, 
Oft have we poured the blighting drops 

Profusely down on all. 

15 



166 

Now, Lllla, dear, forbear, I pray. 

Nor breathe another word ; 
Doep "with remorse my soul is stung^ 

'Tis truth that I have heard — 
I'll blame no more our Cousin Jez, 

His censure is but just. 
Let us, dear Lil,. do so- no more. 

And for a pardon trust. 



TO A FRIEND GOING FROM IWMK 



Fare thee well, Leonora, 

Since thou must away ; 
I shall think of thee always, 

Where'er thy feet stray ; 
For the friend whom I love, 

I will breathe oft a prayer, 
That no cloud may surround thee. 

Of sorrow or care. 

I shall mourn the long absence 

Of her I hold dear — 
Who exhales in our pathway 

The breath of sweet cheer ; 
And I'll pray she may soon 

Wander back to the bower, 
Where her voice of sweet music 

Makes joyous each hour. 



167 



SONG OF THE ROBIN, AT DAYBREAK. 



There are, undoubtedly, lovers of music and of the 
beautiful, who have never yet risen at the earliest hour 
■of dawn, in June or July, when the eastern sky first 
begins to reflect its mellow, golden tints, and all the 
birds and insects start forth in gladness. To all such 
delinquent lovers of nature, I would say, for once, at 
least, burst the bands of Morpheus for a time, and if a 
grove or a garden-bower be near, sit by your shaded 
lattice, quaft" the light, sweet, odorous morning breeze, 
and feast tl»e oar and the soul tipon the sweetest and 
most joyous music that ever floated on the balmy air.— 
The Robin thus will we^ve his lay : — 

Awake, my gentle mates of downy wing, 
^Tis rudaj uawn,-— a^ake^, and with me sin^ j 
List to the call, and join my early lay — 
There 's joy and sweetness in the new-born day. 

The zephyrs come, sweet as the breath of love, 
With laden wings, from green and blossom'd grove •, 
Fresh are the dewy lawns, and bright the flowers, — 
Inviting, too, the cool and festooned bowers. 

The eastern sky is beaming, tinged with gold, 

All nature doth her dewy charms unfold — 

Who would not know how bright the morning dawns 

O'er placid lakes and on the silken lawns. 

Awake, then, minstrels of the varied wing, 
'Tis beauteous dawn, — with Robin, deign to sing; 
List to my call, and join my early lay — 
There 's joy and sweetness in the new-born day. 



168 



WAITING TO DIE 



It was a clear, cold, wintry day, 

And cheerless passed the hours, 
Methought I'd lonely stroll away 

Among the deep-snow bowers. 
No birds were chanting in the trees, 

No herds upon the plain ; 
No melody was on the breeze — 

I saw no ripening grain. 

But on my isolated track 

I met an aged sire, 
With penury'^3 pressure on his baci — 

Quenched was his manly fire. 
He, trembling, leaned upon his staff. 

And gazed into my eyes : 
" Oh ! sir, the bitter cup I quaff, — 

Hear thou," he said, " my cries." 

He did not seek and plead in vain, 

The heart's deep chords to touch ; 
We passed, and may not meet again — 

How could one aid him much ? 
Oh I as he slowly moved along 

I heard a deep-drawn sigh r 
And this the burden of his song^ 

•' Im going home to die." 

Anon, I met a tottering form, 
Thin-clad in sable sheen — 



169 

A female, blighted by the storm 

Of disappointment keen. 
She looked up with ii furrowed brow, 

And with beseeching eye. 
I passed her with a tlioughfnl bow : 

" Waiting," she said, " to die." 

1 lurther roamed, and on a hill 

I saw a cottjige fair ; 
Feeling the sting of Winter's chill, 

I sought iin entrance there. 
Two aged forms sat by the fire. 

Musing o'er years gone by : 
The friendless mother, and the sire — 

Waiting their turn to die. 

I wandered next to yonder bower, 

By charity upreared ; 
And there I viewed each broken flower. 

That time and fate had scared. 
Oh ! there were hearts, once young and frtt-. 

All wrecked, and lone, and dry ; 
Warm tears might flow of sympathy, 

To hear them wish to die. 

Returning, I beheld the throng 

In busy, laughing mood ; 
And felt almost to join the song 

That worldlings make their food. 
But though our proud bark gaily glide, 

The dark whirlpool is nigh ; 
And we, frail mortals, on life's tide, 

Are waiting, all, to die. 

•lo 



170 



THE BACHELOR'S EXCUSE AND REGRET. 



Dark is our doom, my brother " Dow,"— 

Oh ! Is it not a pity. 
While hope hung on our boyhood's brow, 

We hiidn't been more witty ? 
You well remember Miss Leroy, 

The star whose light I chose 
To guide me, e'en though but a boy ? — 

'Twas her who scorned my clothes. 

Although I'd seen scarce fourteen years, 

She found me something haughty : 
But in the dark I shed warm tears, 

For her who was so naughty. 
I slept that night — and in my dream, 

A skiff came o'er the water : 
In it I saw, 'neath the moon's beam, 

Eve's second beauteous daughter. 

Methought 'twere well I did not die, 

As came this damsel near me : — ■ 
O ! there was magic in her eye. 

I asked the dove to cheer me. 
Alas ! although I strove to win, 

With nature's purest art, 
She said I never could begin 

To charm her lofty heart. 



171 

Thus might I name at least a score 

Of foilures, keen an J dark ; 
And by those ialse lights, on the shore 

Oft ran my luckless bark. 
But still upon life's changeful sea 

Anon I spread my sail, — 
Laughing at breakers on my lea, 

I'd breast the adverse gale. 

I've tuned my harp at moonlight hour, 

Enacting well my part : 
But even music's magic power 

Melts not the icy heart. 
The gay and beautiful I've met, 

The amiable and bold. 
And 'mid like scenes I mingle yet. 

Nor do I find life cold. 

But Time 's a tyrant, leaving blight 

On every brother's brow : 
Hence, while life's taper blazes bright. 

The watchword should be, " now." — 
But darkness hath some gleams of light. 

And chances yet may be : — 
Do not, friend " Dow," these fond hopes blight : 

Send dark-eyed " Nell " to me. 



172 



THE BACHELOR'S REPLY TO " SOMEBODY. 



When nigbt outspreads her sable "wings, 
And sends the " gude man " home, 

Who, by forgetting many things, 
Makes his wife rave and foam ? 

Not the " old bachelor. 

When children turn the tea-cups o'er, 
And cry, " Give me some butter," 

Who says these urchins are a " bore," 
And makes their mother mutter ? 
Somebody. 

When from the oven, servant Nancy 

Outdraws the sooty bread. 
Who chides his wife for such a fancy, 

Wishing her maid were dead ? 

Not the bachelor. 

As mews the cat around the room, 

With hunger in her eyes, 
Who scouts her with a worn-out broom, 

And pities not her cries ? 
Somebody. 

When timidly the wife hath said. 

There 's clothes and groceries wanted, 

Who wishes he were never wed, 
Thus ever to be haunted ? 

Not the *' old bachelor. 



173 

When exhibitions chaste and rare 

Are offered for a penny, 
Who says, " I can't atTord the fare, 

Dear discontented Jenny ?" 

Not the bachelor. 

When pork, and meal, and fish, and bread, 

Rise in the market higher, 
Who groans, as though his friends were dead, 

While poking his scant fire ? 

Not the bachelor. 

When Summer comes, with charms anew. 

Like a young rose-crowned bride, 
Who fails (as once he used to do) 

To take his wife to ride ? 

Somebody. 

When penury, with tearful eye, 

Begs, shivering like a reed, 
Who says, " Poor wretch ! I'll pass you by, 

I've many mouths to feed ? " 

Not the bachelor. 

When done is each day's toil and strife, 
And " Sir " wends home his way. 

Who sits for hours beside his wife. 
With scarce a word to say ? 
Somebody. 

The dozy scene now being o'er. 

The parties cross as Hector, 
Who knows he merits more and more, 

As rings the " Caudle lecture ?" 

Not the " old bachelor." 



174 

And when " the baby " wakes and screams, 

To hear the sermonizing, 
Who says : " If ever morning beams, 

I'll flee from such chiistising ? " 
Somebody. 



FALL OF THE PAVILION AT PORTSMOUTH, 
July 4, 1840. 



It contained fifteen hundred persons. Iho seats gave 
Hui , bringing a thousand of the number to the ground. 
For a brief season the confusion and dismay were great. 

Being a particijiator in the scene, the following imper- 
tfect lines v/ere written commemorative of the event. 

The booming cannon ushered in the morn, 
With chiming bells, and drum, and martial horn. 
Hundreds of beaming faces sped their way. 
To the Pavilion, on that joyous day. 

In swelling number sat the people round. 
Nor dreamed that danger lurked upon the ground ; 
Bright eyes and glowing features here were seen, 
While many gathered on the outer green. 

In lengthened file the sons of freedom came, 
With hearts high-throbbing at Cohmibia's fame. 
Their plumes and banners to the Summer hreeze, 
Like fciries, danced beneath the shadowy trees. 



175 

At length, embowered beneath tlie tent's cool shade. 
The full procession fz-oni the sun is stayed ; 
The orator, with friend at either hand, 
Smiling ascends the decorated stand. 

Prayer is about to wend its Avay to heaven, 
For bounteous blessings to our nation given, 
When dreadful crashing all around is heard, 
'Mid female screams of terror in each word. 

Prostrate with ruins sad the people lay, 
And hearts are sick, which but just now were gay ; 
The cries of friend for friend were keen, though brief. 
Each manly arm was nerved to give relief. 

None tasted death, strange as it seems to tell, 
Yet some the keen smart felt, 'mong those that fell. 
"Wide open flew the doors of neighbors kind, 
AVho proffered early aid with cheerful mind. 

And who averted such impending woe. 

As hung thus fearful o'er each friend or foe ? 

We feel, we know, 't was that xVlmighty Arm, 

Which stays the storm, and saves our bark from harm. 



176 

TO THE OLD BRICK MARKET-HOUSE. 
Tune — " Woodman, spare thai tree." 

No one who has ever gazed upon this building, will 
blame my muse for complimenting its exquisite symmetry. 

Old house I on thee I gaze 

AVith sad and steady eyes, 
And watch thy changeful days 

With sympathetic sighs. 
Oft has the threatening storm 

Swept round thee and within. 
But still thy portly form 

Survives the passing din. 

Say not my praise is vain, — 

No flatterer's tune I play : 
'Twould give my bosom pain, 

Shouldst thou not heed my lay. 
A peerless gem thou art. 

Unscathed by blight or years : 
Symmetric in each part, 

E'en to thy short-cropt ears. 

Old house ! I mean no ill, — 

I venerate thy brow ; 
Thou art a model, still. 

Before whose form we bow. • 
Deep in my heart enshrined, 

Thine image is my theme : 
Thou com'st before my mind 

Like love to mem'ry's dream. 



177 

Old friend I dispel that frown, 

My candor seeks no harm ; 
Far-spread is thy renown, — 

Thy features yet can charm. 
Then once more list my lay, 

Nor deem my music flat : 
Fly from my sight uway, 

Or, wear a broad-brim hat .' 



ON THE FINE ARTS. 



" Wk should not condemn the Fine Arts for iheir 
abuse," says a distinguished author, " nor imagine that be- 
cause sometimes prostituted to serve the basest passions of 
our lowest nature, they cannot be made subservient to 
the fairest and noblest faculties which belong to our high- 
est." The imagination may be polluted and pampered 
until it loads to pestilence and death, but its cultivation 
docs not necessarily imply such a result. If it did, then 
in the beautiful language of Verplank, " perish forever 
the breathing thoughts, the winged words, the living 
images of beauty." 

A passion for the Fine Arts, and love for the grand 
and beautiful in nature and art, is an inborn principle of 
man's composition. It is confined to no sect or country. 
The Greek, Jew, Gentile and Christian, of correctly 
disciplined and cultivated feelings, each in his own 

16 



178 



peculiar way express, with similar beauty, the same ideas 
ia regard to this subject. 

Vain and imbecile, however, would be the effort to 
prove that all, under any circumstances, possess such 
feelings, with equal fervor, any more than that all posses'^, 
or can acquire an equal degree of skill in the arts and 
sciences. Still is the passion a divine principle incor- 
porated into the complex nature of the human race to a 
certain degree, which, when not otherwise made known, 
is always more or less developed by education and 
circumstances as before asserted. 

It has ever been a source of humiliation and trial to 
Poets, Musicians, Painters, and other Artists, when, from 
unavoidable circumstances, they have felt obliged to 
sojourn where they must breathe an atmosphere unper- 
fumed by the invigorating and cheering incense of 
sympathy. Hence the clustering of so many of a partic- 
ular genius or talent, about certain spots on the wide 
green earth, where they can sip the dews of agreeable 
support, and bask in the smiling light of congeniality. 

My thoughts are at pi-esent wandering over mauy 
bright and odoriferous homes for the true artist, and for 
the enthusiastic admirer of the beautiful, grand, and 
sublime in nature and art. 

Among those agreeable places before my fancy, is a 
densely populated and beautiful city, near whose shining 
portal, a lofty and noble monument marks the sacred spot 
where lies the ashes of the immortal AVarren. 

I -will liken this city to a peerless bride, standing near 
the deep blue ocean, protected by the right arm of 
her national defence, and honored by the streaming 
banners of commerce waving upon the tall masts of her 



179 



numerous white sail ships. There she stands, with 
benignant smile, and ontstretchcd alabaster arms, en- 
circled in diamond bracelets, beckoning the artist and 
lover of fine sentiment to her peaceful, hospitable and 
noble halls. 

Not a few may say that this city is the home of blight- 
ing evils:— and is not this, to a greater or less degree, a 
natural consequence amid the conflicting elements of hu- 
man activity ? — Still may she be observed in the fore- 
most ranks of those who delight to encourage and foster 
every thing which tends to refine the maners and elevate 
the mind. Her mental light is as the genial dews and 
meridian summer-sun, testing every spot of good soil, 
that it may yield income to its utmost capacity. Her ev- 
er-wakeful and far-seeing eye, and cheering smiles, beam 
upon intrinsic merit, wherever found in her dominion. 

The Muses hold their sweetest levees in the cool shadow 
of her ambrosial bowers. The arts and sciences call 
her mother. Nature seems to scatter her various 
exquisitely-tinted gems in and around this " Athens of 
America," with a partial hand. It is here the genius of 
Music lives, and moves, and has a brilliant being. Here, 
devotion and gold are freely and profusely oflered at 
the sweetly-perfumed altar of the Fine Arts, and they 
in reciprocal return, make up a beautiful and luxuriant 
feast for the soul. 



180 



THE WOUNDED DESPERATE KING ALCOHOL 
TO HIS ASSOCIATES. 



Curse on the shielded arms 

That smote this haughty brow, 
And scattered wide my serried ranks ,- 

Curse them — I will not bow. 
Where is my trumpeter, 

To call, with his wild blast, 
My sleeping minions to the field ? — 

Is he, too, pinioned fast ? 

Ye sworn ones in my rear, 

Rush to your king's relief; 
Grasp now the steel, and goad the foe, 

I'm still the unconquered chief 
I spurn the " olive branch" 

That floats on yonder field, — 
Fix'd on my brow is Conqueror, 

My oath ! I will not yield. 

With daring stride they come, 

For what ? — to conquer me, 
Whose mighty arm has like a plague. 

Bid boasting armies y?ec ? 
Vain things ! I'll let them see 

My desolating ire ; 
Like chaff before the sweeping gale, 

I'll chase them with my fire. 



181 

My legions bold, come on I 

Ye that have pledged for me 
The King of Pandemoniian .' 

We strike but to he free. 
On to the rescue, braves. 

And smite th' audacious band ; 
We've sworn allegiance to the hotel : 

Then nerved be every hand I 

I scorn the temp'rance cause, 
And will not yield the power ; 

I've mailed it with the thunder's voice- 
Then shall we basely cower ? 

Ho, ye ! my minions ! wake ! 
To arms for Bacchus, cling, 

See ! yonder comes an army bold .' 
Save I save your wounded King ! 



182 



SELFISHNESS. 



What a green-eyed, sycophantic image is selfishness, 
bowing anywhere and everywhere, wherever its little 
narrow, despicable body can realize or hope for the 
slightest benefit : grasping eagerly all within its reach, to 
pamper its maw-worm appetite. It cries forever, like 
the unsated grave, " Give, give ! " but never imparts a 
breath of joy or comfort to man or beast. It proffers no 
aid where it sees not a reward with interest. It is a 
lank, artful lago, willing, for the pleasure of fiendish re- 
venge, to witness the dirk-knife of Othello pierce the in- 
nocent heart of a fair Desdemona. 

It comes with affected sEaile, to. horroiv ; but betrays its 
primeval meanness in a frown, when it is asked: to lend. 
It sighs for the pains of others, only when it perceives it 
must lose something by their misery. It cares not how 
)>eats the pitiless storm, if its personified importance 
be comfoi'tably sheltered. It will keep a faithful mastiff 
to guai'd its interest, but never think of that creature's 
necessary requirements. It will destroy the sweet song.. 
sters of the forest, because its poisonous self is dead to 
music and to the beautiful — caring for none else oq 
earth. It will drive a willing and noble steed till he falls 
and dies, to gratify its love for riding. It despises the 
poor man, because it discovers no chance from the cir- 
cumstances to gain anything by him. It courts the favor 
of rich men, and will grovel in the dust at their feet, if it 
but clearly sec that the play will come out in its own fa-^ 
vor. It coldly views its neighboi's submerging in the tur'. 



183 



bid waters of adversity, without extending a hand of re- 
lief, lest its darling interest in some measure be at stake. 
It matters not wlio sinks to the bottom, if its own shal- 
low, clumsy bark float on with prosperous gales. Jt 
would strangle the beautiful dove of Noah, to gratify it? 
epicurean palate. It would rob the sanctuary of ite 
sacramental plate, to squander away for its voluptuous 
indulgence- It would lay a city in ashes, to gratify ite 
passion for a conflagration. It would stigmatize talent 
and genius, and rob industry and innocence of existence, 
rather than lose one gem from the gaudy coronet upon 
its contracted brow. It can gaze upon agony and death 
with stoic eyes, if the end of that scene brings a legacy 
for its unholy yearnings. 

Ah I take from my sight mean selfishness away. 
It blights the beauty of life's fairest day. 



184 



DEFAMERS OF CHARACTER. 



" Tliose that make 
Envy and crooked malice, nourishment, 
Dare bite the best." [^Shakspere. 

Ye of the vampire tongue and meagre brain, 
Who bask and fatten on the forms you've slain, 
Who magnify your neighbors' faults abroad 
To please the Dark One — not to serve the Lord — 
Come from your hiding-places, to the view : 
Behold your hateful selves, in mirror true ! 

Look at the flaunting gossip all the day, 

111 whose seared bosom burns no kindly ray ; 

She 's left in shameful plight her sleeping-room, 

To seal, perchance, her honest neighbor's doom. — 

And those who quaff the breath of tatler's voice, 

Are fit companions — the traducei-'s choice. 

Hung by one rope, high dangling in the air, 

I'd laugh to sec defamers, pair by pair ! 

No matter what the sex — some are called men, 

Who oft'times are as brainless as a hen — 

Hang them, too, if they aim a murderous blow. 

High with the withered gossips, for a show. 

No sex, or age, or rank of blood, or state, 

Of blighting tongue, should 'scape our righteous hate. 

Long since below would man a heaven have found, 

Had Hades held its monsters firmly bound; 

But from its cavern's wrathy, blue, hot fire, 

All over earth are scattered demons dire. 



185 

Tlic mean, suspicious, mischief-inahing dolt, 
In harm outvies the storm or thunderbolt. 

O I all ye limping, meddling, heartless mules, 
Who wilful act the part of sneaking fools ;— 
You who at home leave duties meanly done, 
And after news and scandal daily run ; — 
Ye without culture, and of evil heart, — 
Filchers of character— aci your vile part : 
But think of that dread hour when Hades' knell 
Shall summon you to come therein to dwell ! 



186 



AGAIN IS SUMMER HERE 



" Come see what pleasure in the fields abound, 
The woods, the fountains, and the flow'ry ground, 
Here could I live." [Dri/ifen. 

Sweet Summer now is here ; 

And every tree and flower, 
And all things of the glad green earth 

Rejoice to own her power. 
We have not sighed in vain, 

To meet the maiden fair, 
Of spicy breath, and smiling eye, 

And flowing, silken hair. 

She comes arrayed in gems. 

Of varied form and shade ; 
She comes with garlands on her brow. 

Which God's own hand hath made. 
Each leafy bower is full 

Of her gay minstrel birds ; 
And all the verdant vales and hills 

Are rife with grazing herds. 

Up from the dreaming couch, 
Ye swains and maidens, rise, 

Nor wait till Sol peeps o'er the hills ; 
Full soon morn's beauty flies. 

Haste to tlie sparkling fields, 
And gather flow'rets there ; 

Gay summer will not— cannot stay- 
Seek now her jewels rare, 



167 

Wrtke early, e'er the sounds 

That charm, shall fade away : 
Wake once at dan-n, and hear each bird 

Chanting its joyous lay. 
From every bush and tree, 

(}ay notes of music rise. 
Melodious on the incensed air, 

Up to the azure skies. 

D^t, then, from languid couch. 

Ye swains and maidens rise, 
Nor linger till the sun is up ; 

Too soon morn's beauty llios. 
Haste to the blossom'd wood-*, 

And qnaflfthe fragrant air : 
Bright summer will not — cannot itav — 

Oh, seek her Ireasurch nire. 



188 



ON RICHES. 



Upon tlie varied pages of the world's great book is 
found this thrilling text : " Get riches — honestly and 
honorably if possible, — nevertheless, get riches." 

To be rich, does not necessarily imply virtue and great- 
ness ; any more than to be poor necessarily implies the 
opposites, vice and meanness. Yet from the general con- 
duct of many of the human race towards the two classes, 
the unavoidable inference is, that such is their belief. 

" Get riches ! " Yes, a full and dazzling purse is the 
world's magic light-house, emitting peculiar and attrac- 
tive rays of fascination. Keep but within the influence 
of its stellar beams — hold fast at will, the shining keys of 
its glowing chambers : then the storms of enmity and 
fate may rudely blow o'er life's broad ocean, and safe 
from harm will ride our daring bark — so hints the text. 

Before the time-worshipped portal of this little magic 
licfht-house, garlands intertwined with flowers of fame 
and honor have been, are still and ever will be thrown 
in rich profusion, by the devotees of Mammon. 

Why should soft lieavenly dews descend upon the 
pleasant garden-spot of Fancy, or the mind be stored and 
bowed with v»isdom drawn from Nature's open book and 
from the classic hall, Avhen in the gaudy bowers of wealth 
alone, high fame, intrinsic merit, love and virtue fold 
their silken pinions ? There is stealing o'er my senses 
now a voice outcrying : " What care I, though in a nut- 
sheWs chamber my whole brain find ample rocm to dance 
about, while yonder heads of wealth are mine ? " AnoQ 



189 



J lioar Miiothor voice outcrying : " Toll not mc of lofty 
gifts Avitbin, nor talk of crossing seas and scaling Alpine 
hills to pluck the flowers of knoAvledge, Avhile upon the 
track, hai'd after mc, the haggard phantom Penury is 
seen." 

O ! how little lionest breath of courtesy, or love, or 
favor, comes to kiss that brow where the proud charmer 
Gold, has k'ft no radiance. 

Hence it would seem that from our infancy we should 
be taught the best mode of courting successfully the peer- 
less goddess Wealth, for sure it must appear that in its 
untold virtues is (livulgcd the mystery of man's creation, 
aim and end. 

Therefore, in the faith of such a noble maxim, I would 
say : Give me great riches, and although but one idea 
live within my pigmy brain, and that idea venture never 
higher than my selfish breath can rise — give me but 
riches, and the world's gay ci'owd shall " dofF their bea- 
vers" when I loom up in the fog of life's deceptive morn- 
ing. " And more than this : I will attract profound at- 
tention from the stupid clown, the scholar, statesman, 
king, and win the favor, smiles and love of channing fe- 
male hearts, when I shall speak, though all I say be 
senseless as the ''ibberinsf of a maniac. 



190 



PASSING AWAY. 



Ni(jJu's tlroary cui'tains nre withdrawn, 
And o'er tlie lakes and dewy lawn 
'Morning outflings its rosy light. 
And earth appears in beauty bright. 

The song-bird's note floats on the breeze 
In magic sweetness, through the trees ; 
While in the meadow, fresh and green, 
The lamb and kid at play are seen. 

S^viftly, on golden chariot, flies 
The sun, toward mei'Idian skies, 
Till In the radiant beam of day 
Sweet morning hides its smile away. 

Noontide outpours Its melting rays, 
And panting herds refuse to graze ; 
But morn and noon have swiftly passed. 
And o'er us ecen/rt^y-sliades are cast. 

Dig, like a spirit fond and true, 
Departing, waves a sad adieu ; 
And huri-ies, with electric flight,-^ 
Hiding its charms In ebon night. 

Thus, lights and shades and all things pass, 
While ruthless Time holds ont his glass ; 
Ambition, fame, and honor, too, 
Ephemeral are as morning dew. 



191 

Bright Summer wings herself away, 
Leaving her gems to sad decay, 
She bore us balm from Ceylon's isle^ — 
Alas ! how fleeting was her smile ! 

***** 

See Friendship near, with graceful hand, 
Writing fair tales upon the sand ; 
The waves of Impulse lash the shore — 
Her promises we read no more. 

See Love, with sweetly-winning voice, 
Forsake its fond and happy choice. 
And flit away, on fickle wing, 
To sip at some new-gushing spring. 

See gorgeous palaces and towers. 
And dazzling thrones and gilded bowers, 
And pyramids that pierce the sky — 
In Time's remorseless grasp they die. 

Soe kindred ties torn by the blast, 
In Death's dark whirlpool rudely cast ; 
Amid the storm, sad wailings hear. 
Of breaking hearts that cluster near. 

Oh ! 'tis the tempest passing by, 

Sent by Jehovah from the sky ; 

Deep wisdom guides the blighting storm 

That chills the blood, once gushing warm. 

The fiat of th' Eternal One, 

E'er suns their round had scarce begun, 

Went forth, creating dire dismay — • 

That " Heaven and earth should pass away. 



192 

O, Spirit ! O, immortal mind ! 
Look heavenward, fadeless joys to find ; 
Let earth and all else j^ass away — 
The soul hopes on, for endless day. 




ERRATA. 

In ;^lancing over the sheets since they came from press, the 

following errors have been discoTered. There arc some othci3 

which are not deemed worthy of notice. 

Page 21st, in the first line add " glorious" hefore morning — 
in the last verse, for " doso' read " doze." 
" 2oth, Gth verse, for "sweet home" read " sweet hours. 
" 30th, 17th line, for " him" read " he." 
" 6oth, 16th line, for " threatening skies" read " shooting 

spray." 
" 83d, 20th line, for " their deW7" read "the dewy." 
" 89th, 17th line, for " sunny morn" read "sunny morning." 
" 90th, 2.3d line, for " these" read " those." 
" 99th, 1st line, 3d verse, for " o'ershadows" read " o'er- 

shade." 
" 103d. 2d line, for " is'nt lovely" read " is'nt it lovely." 
" 188th, last line, for " heads" read " heaps." 



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